


The Scalpel and the Skull

by steadydescentintomadness



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steadydescentintomadness/pseuds/steadydescentintomadness
Summary: A collection of Caveira and Doc one shots.
Relationships: Gustave "Doc" Kateb/Taina "Caveira" Pereira
Comments: 37
Kudos: 38





	1. Wounded Healer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well and having a good 2021 so far! Welcome to my collection of Cav/Doc one shots! I think I’ve discussed most of this previously, but there are just some general things I wanted to go over.  
> 1) If by chance you are new to my writing (hi, hello!), I wrote a full length Cav/Doc fic that you might be interested in called [When Born Unto Chaos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025113/chapters/60602239). You don’t have to have read it for all of the one shots to make sense. However, some (including this first one) are alternative POVs from things in the other story, so you might be a bit lost for some of them.  
> 2) Updates are probably going to be inconsistent as I try to write these between writing another full length fic, so I apologize in advance for that.  
> 3) Timelines of one-shots are going to be everywhere, and the significance of that fact will fluctuate. I’ll probably specify at the beginning where needed. Don't worry about it.  
> 4) Feel free to make suggestions/ requests/ prompts/ whatever. I’m not going to guarantee anything, but I’ve written most of the one shots I had in my head, and I’m on the hunt for fresh inspiration. So shoot your shot! But please don’t hate me if I don’t write it.  
> Just some clarification on this specific “one shot.” As I indicated what feels like forever ago, this was kind of part 2 of bonus Doc content that I thought about posting with the main story. Honestly, if I were writing a true one shot for this, I’d probably rewrite the entire thing, but I wanted to keep it true to its original form, which is more like deleted scenes than a one shot. The last scene I added afterwards just because I could now that I didn’t have to worry about adhering to a POV timeline in the main Chaos story. The point I’m trying to make is, they’ll get better than this one, but I promised I’d post this one first, so that’s what I’m doing!  
> Anyways, that's all. I'm really happy to be back posting, and I hope you guys enjoy this! Thank you!

Harry had already passed the message along to flight personnel to ready at least one stretcher inside the airbus back to Hereford. Bomb diffused, they were in the middle of basic documentation and recovery when GOE agents joined the radio channel shared between all Rainbow specialists. Taina, they advised, was stabilized. Gustave had a million other questions burning within to be asked. Questions he kept to himself. Answers likely wouldn’t even satisfy him anyway. He wasn’t there for her, to help her, to watch over her, and being unable to abandon his post inside Necesidades Palace, nothing would be enough.

Gustave wriggled his exhausted fingers into a fresh pair of gloves. The airplane’s supply—a brightly pigmented purple that he never got used to. “Let’s see,” he said to Sledge, gesturing with both protected hands.

Seamus hunched forward in his sling seat and closer to Gustave. Blood streamed down the bare skin of his round, shaved head. He tossed his gas mask aside. It crashed onto the unfolded seat beside him while Gustave examined in the impact wound. “This shouldn’t have happened,” Seamus muttered.

“What shouldn’t have?”

Though the skin had ruptured and blood had sprung forth, there was nothing to indicate the injury had affected Seamus’ mental capacity.

“I should have checked in on her more,” Sledge mumbled.

Gustave ripped open a small paper square containing an individually packaged antiseptic wipe. The alcohol burned his nose and masked the metallic stench of the plane's belly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should never have let her go alone.”

“She’d have punched you in the face if you even suggested such a thing.”

Seamus unleashed a ghost of a chuckle. “I know.”

Gustave’s eyes automatically flashed to his left and gave her vital signs monitor a once-over. Though the massive plane roared through the air with a bellowing, droning hum, he had learned to be able to pick out the tune amidst any audible environment—the mechanical _beep-beep_ of a heart rate reading. Her pulse had decreased its tempo, no longer the feral tremble it had been before. It had strengthened too. One of the many spiking, coloured lines told him so. He scanned the other lines too—blue, green, pink, orange—to find her oxygen saturation levels. A full 99%. A normal 99%. Gustave harnessed his attention and steered it back towards Sledge. He laid the square of gauze over Seamus’ wound, and secured it in place with medical adhesive, but the entire time, he stole glances to the constant spikes on the machine.

Finished, Gustave took a step back and stripped the gloves from his hands, balling them together and tossing them into a bag of waste.

“Thank you, Doc,” Seamus said. The Scotsman leaned back in his seat and let his eyes fall shut.

Gustave made his way towards the head of the plane, checking in with the other specialists on the way. Smoke, to ensure the coagulation in his thigh hadn’t ruptured. Hibana and her hitched up sleeve, revealing the line of butterfly stitches. The wrapping of gauze around Nomad’s bicep where a bullet had eviscerated the skin. The bandage had grown a pale pink with blood and fluid; he’d have to change it once more before landing. With that, he completed his rounds through the in-air triage, stopping to swipe a small towel and a canteen. With those items, returned to the rear of the plane. Back to the rhythmic tempo exhibiting Taina’s still-beating heart. He came to a standstill next to the bed-like pallet secured to the steel floor.

There was nothing for him to do. The hospital staff had done such a satisfactory job, dropping every non-critical thing to help her. Gustave’s eyes wandered over her body; the anemic pallor had disappeared from her face, and a healthy flush pooled in her cheeks. Her lips, back to red from dusty blue. No longer deprived of oxygen on the cellular level, hypoxic. His stare veered—dark, clotted blood stained the side of her neck, her left hand, her jaw in patches and finger-width smears. Black and white paint, patchy over the skin of her face. The shades bleeding into each other, dissolving any clear lines. A ring of clean skin circled her mouth—wiped away from where the rim of an oxygen mask had been secured. Gustave unscrewed the cap from the green jug he had swiped. One cautious hand tipped the canteen just enough for water to jut out the spout and onto the cloth in his other hand. After securing the lid back on and wringing the towel out, he combed her errant hairs out of his way. He then wiped away the paint obscuring her face. Her cheeks. Her closed eyes. The bridge of her nose. Trying not to let his hand linger anywhere for too long even though all he wanted to do was skim his fingers along her skin and feel her. To hold her hand and listen to her breathe.

To not have to pretend that he was holding it together.

But he still had to do his job, so he still had to pretend.

The airtime passed in the same way.And even when the plane touched ground and chaos seemed to break loose, he continued on in much the same manner except with less armour and more silence. Rotating through patients and wounds late into the night ceaselessly until he completed the last knot in James’ stitches. The bullet had been dangerously close to severing his femoral artery, but it had been a miss. Fortunately the stim had left minimal clean up work for him to do manually. Gustave pulled to tighten the knot in place against Smoke’s skin and then swapped out the suture grip for a small pair of medical scissors. One quick snip removed the excess thread.

“It’s my fault,” James said.

“What is?”

“The stim.”

Gustave glanced up from the bandage he was readying and caught James’ eyes narrowed in Taina’s direction. Occupying the first bed closest to his desk. Still unconscious. He shook his head. “You can’t be at fault for something you didn’t do,” he said. “It was my choice, not yours.”

The weight of his own words hit him. Like shards of ice raining down on him.

Flustered, Gustave pressed the bandage into place and quickly stood up, peeling the white medical gloves off his hands, tearing the teal medical mask from his face, and hurling everything into the waste bin.

So many uninvolved witnesses trying to shoulder the blame. _His_ blame.

It made him sick.

Gustave scribbled a note on James’ medical record, documenting the injury and the medical procedure. Jot notes. Enough to make sense of in the future without going into detail. “She was far too late in the state of shock for it to benefit her much. In the end, you were bleeding out; she wasn’t. The stim can do a lot of things, but it can’t put blood back into a body. Valkyrie was right. Priority was to get hostages out, and Taina— Cav…”

Excuses.

He despised the sound of them on his lips. In his own voice. He knew in the back of his mind that they weren’t just excuses though—they were truths, making him hate them all the more. And in his heart, raw and bleeding bare on his sleeve, he felt only shame, knowing truths still didn’t grant him forgiveness.

Gustave exhaled, aborting whatever futile sentence he had tried to say. With the medical form nestled into Smoke’s file, he tossed the folder onto the desk next to Taina’s file. Both worn manila folders packed with documents.

When he peered back up from his desk, James was staring at him. “She’ll be okay, right?” Smoke asked.

Gustave flashed a shadow of a smile at him. One hand massaged his jaw, noting the tension: a sharp, pinching ache that shot along in pulses. For James’ sake, he forced himself to eventually nod. Non-committal. Perfunctory. Probably not in any way believable, but he did it anyways. “Lay off it for a few days. I’d offer you crutches, but I assume you’d only decline that offer.”

“Correct.”

Gustave nodded again. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Get some rest. You did good today.”

“You too, Doc. I mean it,” Smoke said. “For both.”

James eased himself into a stand and hobbled his way to the door. An undertaking that could be made much easier with crutches, but Gustave didn’t have the willpower in him to try pushing it. Way too robbed for that. He escorted Smoke towards the exit, propping the door open for him. Gustave took one step into the hallway. Enough to watch James slowly trudge towards the dormitory building, receding from sight. Unsteady, but adequate enough to get back to his room as long as he didn’t overexert himself.

Gustave re-entered medical bay, and the door latched back into place. The moment it did, he engaged the locking mechanism and braced his back against the door, which rattled within its frame. His body slid down until he came to a sit on the floor.

He tried not to do anything too severe. To not scream and to not weep.

One long, shaky exhale came out. What followed—an impaired breath.

Some deep craving to smoke sickened him. A vice developed years ago in Paris and for the most part relinquished. But on those nights when the bloodshed, the stress, were too much, he felt it. Gustave’s gaze, blurred, flickered to the right. The bed. The monitor. The motionless body lying under the blankets.

Taina.

Alone with a moment where he didn’t have to fake his strength, his lower lip trembled. A sob wracked his body. Fierce, tugging on every part of him—ligaments from bones, tendons from muscles, painful.

It was happening—he was cracking. Something he couldn’t recall doing in recent years. Nothing new about the high-stress or its griefs; being a doctor and high stress went hand in hand, and losses came with the job too. But not like this. Nothing like this, fully losing it. Nigeria, he last recalled. And this time he couldn’t blame the disaster—the failure—on Olivier.

_This time you have nobody to blame but yourself._

One hand clamped over his mouth hard—the edges of his teeth delving into the insides of his cheeks. Unbridled tears came next. Breaking free from his eyes and slipping down his wearied face.

Gustave swallowed down the raucous wail forming in this throat. His hands raked down his face, removing the tear stains from his cheeks but further aggravating the headache clustered behind his eyes. Another wavering exhale fluttered out between his lips and he willed himself to move. He placed both hands on the ground and hauled himself up into a stand. One flailing shrug, and the white lab coat slipped down his arms. He tossed it onto the chair James had been occupying, but he was too busy memorizing Taina to see it slip off the back and crumple onto the floor. The vital signs monitor drummed in his ears. Eating through the otherwise quiet room. Standing beside the hospital bed, Gustave went to take hold of Taina’s hand. The intravenous cannula and the monitor’s clip secured on her finger hindered him. Gustave’s eyes followed the winding tube of the drip IV up to the still mostly full fluid bag. He checked his watch next—almost midnight. _Very late._

He leaned over and pressed his lips to Taina’s forehead, taking comfort in the warmth her skin had to offer. An improvement from before—even through his balaclava he could feel how cold and clammy her hand had been.

After standing back up, he took three steps toward the door.

But then, a pause.

He knew he needed to heed James’ advice and sleep for more than just his own sake, but…

Gustave turned back around. His eyes studied every part of her. Her breathing—chest gently rising and falling. Her face, wishing her eyes would finally open, and he could stop worrying.

He couldn’t.

Gustave walked around the bed and gripped onto the foot rails of the middle bed next to hers. Pushing it back and forth at an angle. Wheels, screeching with each harsh movement. Once only a foot or so of distance remained, he lifted the bottom end and shifted it until the two beds became aligned. Gustave crawled onto the stiff mattress now up against Taina’s. His laid himself down, not even finding a point in turning the lights off. Exhaustion would drown him into slumber on its own. But before such a fate came, he reached out and clutched Taina’s unburdened hand in his—bare, cool, and still stained red, scratchy from the hardened blood.

“ _Je suis profondément désolé, mon cœur,_ ” he whispered, knowing that saying sorry would never, ever suffice. Nor would it ever absolve him. “ _Je t’aimerai jusqu’à mon dernier souffle_.”

He held her hand tighter then let his eyes drift shut.

* * *

Gustave awoke to a bombardment of bangs, a blood-curdling sound that frightened him out of his feeble slumber. His eyes tore open. He quickly scanned the bed to the right of him where Taina lay—still unconscious. Both unmoving and unresponsive to the clamour. By default, his eyes shifted to the active and relatively normal-looking vital signs monitor and then the bag ofIV fluid, half emptied. Groaning, Gustave rolled to the left and slipped off the uncomfortable bed he had settled into.

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock._

Making his way over, he shifted until his back finally cracked and popped. One finger flipped loose the latch locking the door in place.

The med bag door flung open.

Emmanuelle’s petrified eyes greeted him. He stepped back and opened the door wider for his colleague and friend.

“ _Mon Dieu!_ ” she muttered as she rushed to Taina’s side. Continuing in rapid French, short of breath, Emma asked, “What happened? Is she okay?”

Gustave shut the door once more. “I don’t know.”

Emma, donning nightwear of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, loitered over near the bed and next to the intravenous stand. She held onto Taina’s fingertips, avoiding the taped tubes and needle implanted into the back of Taina’s hand. Mahogany strands of hair had fallen from her bun and framed her face in wisps. “Is she—”

“She’s stable,” he said.

The same words the medics in Lisbon had broadcasted to GOE and Rainbow. Stable. A reassuring word, but so surface deep it meant next to nothing. Every transfusion in concurrence with fluid resuscitation had been a success, and for that he was grateful. The doctors in Lisbon certainly deserved credit for such a feat, but Gustave knew that was only part of the problem. He hadn’t found any external signs of gangrene or necrosis on her extremities, but God only knew what damage had occurred internally while her heart began failing. There were still tests to run, but he didn’t want to add the stress to her mending body until he knew she was _more_ than stable. Conscious at least. But who knew if that was even feasible?

“I don’t know,” Gustave repeated, low voice crackling out, raw. Thick with tears.

Emmanuelle’s gaze deviated from Taina, out cold in her hospital bed, to the empty and disheveled bed pushed right up against hers. The one Gustave had been sleeping in. She released Taina’s hand, and she took a few steps closer to him. “You two are...”

“ _Em—_ ” Gustave flailed a hand in her direction. A gesture begging her to terminate whatever question or accusation she had commenced. The grimace on his face, the frown and the sagging eyebrows, immediately dwindled; a sickening sorrow replaced it once more. An all-consuming illness that warred with self-loathing.

‘ _What?_ ’ he wondered. He didn’t even know himself. Its name didn’t matter—all he knew was he felt it.

Gustave whirled around, facing his desk, and— _bang!_ His hands slammed against the wood, rattling everything scattered across the top. Papers, jars, medical equipment, and the entire desk groaned.

Emmanuelle flinched just as violently at his unexpected outburst. “ _Hey_ ,” she said, walking over to his side. Next she pointed a finger at him. “Whatever happens, you are not allowed to blame yourself.”

“Who else am I supposed to blame, Em?” His voice boomed with the question. Yelling. He hated himself for it, and yet he couldn’t stop. Yelling seemed the only thing preventing him from vomiting.

“No one!” A tint of red coloured Emmanuelle’s eyes. Tears forming and pooling but never spilling. “You did everything you could. You always do.”

“It’s not enough!”

Gustave collapsed into the stool in front of his desk. Head cradled in his hands. For years, Emmanuelle Pichon had been the person he would turn to when the job got too difficult. When the constant reminders of mortality weighed him down. When the horror became too much. Emma understood. She knew just what to say.

Typically.

“You love her,” she said. The inflections in her voice hitched at the end like she wanted to phrase it as a question, but he knew it was a statement.

He did.

And _still_ it wasn’t enough.

_I wasn’t enough._

Gustave slapped a hand over his mouth to maintain relative silence—not enough to hush the sob that tore through him. Tears fell from his eyes. Burning hot, unending. His perception, so fried and fatigued, he couldn’t even feel the astringent teardrops grazing along his cheeks. Agony—agony and nothing else. Drowned in the same angst that overtook him when Taina whispered, ‘ _Gustave, just in case... I love you._ ’ Words that should have filled him with joy. Instead, only fear. 

Emma stepped over to where he sat at his desk weeping to himself. Her hand rested on his shoulder, so every tremor and shake that ran through his body hit her fingertips. Gustave pulled himself together enough to nod. Who knew at what. In agreement with Emmanuelle’s statement? In acknowledgment of the moment?

Her hand clenched, and she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Have you done anything except be in this room since getting back to Hereford?”

Gustave scrubbed the inside of his wrist over his face to eliminate any traces of tears. His skin still carried the nasal-burning, chemical scent of medical gloves. “No.”

“Okay. Get up.”

When Gustave refused to budge, Emma caught his bicep in a vice and began tugging until he caved. Gustave stood up from his seat. His foot nudged the chair with the jarring movement, and it rolled away from him. “Emma, stop.”

“No. You’re going to eat and shower. You _need_ to.”

“I’m not leaving med bay.”

“I’ll stay here, and I’ll call you if anything happens. You need to take care of yourself. This is not what Taina would want.”

Those words revived a shred of life in Gustave’s dead eyes, and his stare collided with Emmanuelle.

“I’m sorry, but I refuse to let you slip like this. I mean, look at you. Look at this!” Emma smacked the back of her hand against his chest, a gesture to indicate his entire uniform that he hadn’t changed out of. “You’re still wearing her blood for Christ’s sake. None of this is helping.”

Gustave glanced down at himself. Dark reddish-brown stains soiled the already dark uniform. Two splotchs marked his thighs—he recalled wiping his hands off there, but the smears along his arms, on the elastic cuffs around his wrists? He had no inkling as to how they originated. Maybe they were directly from Taina herself—the pinching grip she’d had on him despite her near-terminal state. Perhaps he had resorted to scrubbing his hands clean elsewhere over his body. God knew managing a firearm’s recoil with any kind of grip edged on impossible with blood-soaked gloves. He examined those hands, swearing he would find blood there too—a sensory illusion. The heat, the perceived wetness. Despite her blood never coming into direct contact with his skin, he could feel it.

Emmanuelle stepped behind him and shoved Gustave to the door of medical bay. One hand still prodding at his spine, she reached around him and flung the door open. “Go,” she said. “Get changed, shower. Eat. Make sure you drink some water too.”

Gustave entered the hallway on his own volition, knowing she would just shove him out if he hesitated. As he wandered through the utterly barren hallways, he checked his watch. 01:18. He wasted no time fulfilling the basic functions Emmanuelle demanded of him. A brisk shower in lukewarm water, barely allowing the heater to kick in. Afterwards, a t-shirt and sweatpants served as his new uniform. For food, he microwaved whatever leftovers he had in the fridge. He ate directly out of the hot food storage container until he deemed the endeavour as too time consuming. It was enough to tide him over until morning.

With that, another journey down the hallways commenced. The corridor of dark shadows engulfed him along the walk to med bay. Half the lights snuffed out, clockwork. Whispers of a gentle, late night drizzle filled the silence. A katabasis into the underworld; his own descent into the realm of death. _Not death_ , he willed himself to believe. There would be no death. No dying. _Not tonight—so help me God._

Illumination spilled out from under the door of medical bay and burst through the hallway when Gustave opened the door.

Emma had hung his lab coat up on the silver hook jutting out of the wall and moved the black and chrome patient chair up to Taina’s bed. In her hands, a manilla folder. And even at the distance, he recognized his own writing declaring the name.

Taina “Caveira” Pereira.

Emmanuelle’s eyes raced back and forth, skimming over something. Some document, some report. It could have been any number of things because, despite Taina’s renowned aversion to being in medical, she often found ways to land herself there. Just part of her nature. His mind rewound back a month—remembering the nauseating, grinding _thunk_ of her bare fists colliding with cement. The way her hands quivered in his as he bandaged her up. Rage, he assumed at the time. Her flagship trait. But he knew now it was more likely delayed fear intermingled with stress. The beginning—of some kind of other life he never knew he could want.

Emma peered up from what Gustave was certain either had been Taina’s faxed medical report directly from Lisbon or his own handwritten supplementary evaluation upon arriving in Hereford. Her eyes bulged open wide upon catching sight of him. She flipped the folder shut and bolted out of her seat. But instead of an apology, she merely said, “I couldn’t help it.”

Gustave nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Emmanuelle.”

Emma side-stepped to place the folder back onto Gustave’s desk. She joined him by the door, tucking stray stands of hair behind her ear when she went to leave, but then—one languid turn halfway through the threshold. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to convince you to sleep in something that isn’t a hospital bed tonight?”

“ _Non_.”

“But you will sleep?” she asked, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black sweats.

“ _Oui_.” At least, he hoped.

Emmanuelle nodded back and put on a small but sympathetic smile. “ _Dors bien_ , then.”

“ _Bonne nuit_ , Emma. _Merci._ ”

He watched her disappear into both the distance and the darkness. After closing and locking the door, his mind ran through the standard series of checks—heart rate, oxygen saturation, intravenous fluid bag. He left the lights on and crawled back onto his bed for the night. Gustave found Taina’s cold, limp hand once more, linking his fingers through hers, and he swore he saw her eyes flutter open for an ephemeral moment. Exhaustion, forcing an illusion into his perception. Desperation or exhaustion. He shook his head at his senses. And then, eyes drooping to a close, he permitted sleep to drag him down deep into unconsciousness.

* * *

A hollow silence ripped through his mind like a wasteland of nothingness—nothing but an inexplicable dread. Like knives twisting through his gut, screws revolving in open wounds. Even trapped between the realm of sleep and the wakeful, he could feel a cold sweat smothering his skin. A hundred signs screaming at him: _something is wrong._

_Buzz_.

Gustave’s entire body shuddered at the aggressive yet distant rattles, hauling him from a weak slumber. He jolted into a sit. Then everything hitting him at once.

Daylight clawed its way through the blinds and into med bay.

The hospital bed beside him lay wrinkled and vacant.

Taina was gone, there was blood on the floor, and his entire world was off its axis.

“ _Non, non, non!_ ”

_Buzz_.

Gustave lunged forward, scrambling over both thin mattresses. The metal frames wailed and shrieked under his weight as he vaulted. A harsh landing on the floor seemed to shatter his ankles, stiff from sleep. Sending splinters up the bones. He ran over to his phone thrashing against his wooden desk, swiped it up, and answered in one mercurial, frantic motion.

“Hello?”

“ _Bon matin_ , Doc,” Buck replied, voice even, though less jovial than typical.

Gustave whirled back around. Eyes warring with tears, he stared. At droplet after droplet of bright red speckling the floor in a clear trail between the desk and the bed. At the intravenous standing unmoved with the drip tube tied tightly into a knot. Everything spelling panic. _God damn it, Taina._ He rushed through the door that she had left gaping open. Bloody flecks stained the floor and stretched down the hallway like some ominous beckoning—a harrowing trail leading him on. And he feared what he may find at the end of that trail.

Still, he obeyed, sprinting after the flashes of crimson.

“What do you need?” Gustave huffed out between breaths.

“Sorry to bother,” Sébastien said. A ruckus of sound flooded in through the phone, muddying his words. Movement and chattering voices and clanging pots and pans. “Just a quick question. Did you clear Cav to leave medical bay?”

His eyes shot wide open, and his pace quickened under the demand of his nervous system. Fresh epinephrine crashing through his veins like a frigid tsunami—but even that failed to alleviate the wriggling aches and blistering pains tearing all throughout his body. Stress and tension coming to a head.

“ _Of course I didn’t!_ ”

His attention deserted the floor under his feet. The physical evidence, deemed no longer necessary. And based on what he heard, he figured there were only a handful of places Buck was, meaning there were only a few other Taina could be.

“Where is she?”

“The dorms.”

“ _Très bien_. Don’t let her leave.”

“I’m guessing she went to her room,” Buck said. “Do you want me to check?”

Gustave only spent a fraction of a moment debating his answer. _Yes_ , his mind shouted. He needed to know she was okay. He needed her to be okay. As okay as someone bleeding all over the floor can be. She had concluded missions in med bay before, usually capped by snide remarks about how she didn’t need medical attention or—in particularly grave situations—a self-assured joke or two. And he was certain with her history and their lifestyles, this had not been her first brush with death. But this…

To run?

To be so desperate to flee that she’d rip an IV out of her body and struggle, wounded and in no way near recovered, to the entire other side of headquarters.

That was different.

He couldn’t reason with himself as to why such a difference surprised him. Everything was different now—regardless of whether anyone else saw it, he knew it to be true. Nothing was the same anymore.

“ _Non_ ,” he said.

Whatever thoughts and feelings seethed in her mind, it was enough for her to leave. She abandoned him. And sending hounds of other operators after her would only make matters worse.

“It’s fine. I’m almost there,” he said. Gustave picked up his speed and hung up, pocketing his cell phone while he dashed through the corridor. Weaving and dodging around the occasional operator—Bandit and Jäger strolling towards the gym, Mira with a handful of schematics and documents, who backed against the wall to make way for him. And as he approached the dormitory building, he had to choke out the dozens of questions stained with anger and frustration and worry and dejection: _Are you okay? What happened? What were you thinking? Why did you leave me?_

Each of them pummelling him one by one like the fraught beat of his heart until his spirit threatened to break.

Ambient noises from the kitchen slowly breached his ears, the same ones from over the phone. The smells soon followed: salty protein cooking, fresh coffee, and the stench of burnt toast. Gustave rounded the corner and strode through the kitchen, hitting a wall of heat. From the stove, from the crowded area packed with operators trying to get breakfasts going. Sébastien stood near one of the kitchen tables occupied by Lion, Blackbeard, and Pulse. One hand gripped onto the back of a chair; the other was balled into a fist, anchored to his hip. He appeared to half-listen to the conversation, but his line of sight was permanently fixed to the opening of the hallways leading towards the bedrooms.

Gustave rushed his way—a sudden, brash movement that caught Buck’s attention.

Sébastien’s entire form dressed in worn out and sweat stained gym clothes snapped upright. Next he nudged his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “She hasn’t come by since,” he said, scratching at the brown beard nearing the territory of bushy.

Gustave nodded back, striding right by the Canadien. “ _Merci_.”

He navigated the way to Taina’s bedroom, hands clenched the entire way. Struggling to keep himself in check. To keep his own hurt assuaged and simply bask in the relief that she was even alive.

Short of breath, he swerved through the wide open door to her bedroom and froze in place. The space—completely unoccupied. Nothing out of place except the crumpled hospital gown she had shed. Even as Gustave lingered in the doorway, the bits of blood staining it still caught his eye. Pins and needles surged through his veins, each savage pulse delving stabbing pains with a headache. His eyes burned from past tears. Though perhaps from present ones too.

Taina wasn’t there. _So where the hell is she?_

Realization struck him in a heartbeat—a lightning bolt of thought. Scorching, yet it ripped a chill through him, and he shivered. Feeling all the hairs on his arms rising with the goosebumps coating his flesh, he ran his hands up and down his upper arms to try and warm himself. But just as fast and urgent as the chill, a comforting warmth poured over him next. Sweet and soothing, like honey on the tongue. He retreated from Taina’s room and wandered back through the hallways.

No trail to follow this time.

No one else saw her or knew where she went.

Just him and his gut.

Back to where it started. Where she always seemed to run to or end up. Probably one of the few places she even deemed a safe place. A place where she could always be vulnerable and he would always do everything to protect her and nobody else ever had to know anything. It took only a handful of paces and even fewer seconds with his ever-anxious speed to arrive there. At the beginning.

At their beginning.

Face to face with the door, his hand rested on the doorknob. His other hand brushed up the barrier separating him from her. The skin of his hand—dry and starting to crack from washing between procedures—clawing at the wood.

Gustave leaned in, forehead resting against the door, and he tried to listen for something. Movement. Mumbling. Heaven forbid sobbing, a sound that would inevitably wreck him to pieces.

But he heard nothing.

Despite that, he still knew she was in there. Somewhere in his bedroom, waiting for him to come find her. As if her suffering and fear somehow diffused through the door and blinked at him like a warning sign.

A warning heeded.

Gustave took a deep, steadying breath in before wrenching the knob and opening the door to his own room, ready for nothing and everything at the same time.

Immediately finding nothing at eye level, his gaze dropped.

There she sat on the floor. The clothes she had changed into hung from her body, loose sweatpants and a large sweater hiding most of the injuries that body had sustained. Back against the bed, she huddled with her arms wrapped around a scrunched up bundle of white fabric. Fabric he slowly recognized as his lab coat. Strands of dark chestnut brown hair had ruptured from her braid. Those locks and the side bangs hanging over her eye had become disheveled. Frizzed and on the verge of matting from blood and face paint.

Gustave felt his soul break for her in that moment.

Such a mighty woman, she looked so small. So tired. Fragile.

Any ounce of annoyance and anger became extinguished, snuffed out by his swelling heart.

“I’m sorry,” Taina whispered to him.

Her arms snaked tighter around his lab coat. Deathly tight—desperate, fingers barely sticking out through the long sleeves of her black sweater.

‘ _Gustave, just in case,_ ’ he could hear her saying. Crying. ‘ _I love you_.’

Another wave of fresh salty tears surged at the memory, blinding him. ‘ _I love you, Taina. Please hold on_.’

And she had. By some miracle. By the grace of whatever God there may be. And yet he knew those words—any of them—couldn’t bear to be repeated. No matter how true they were. No matter how much those three words burned him up from the inside out like a raging wildfire in a dry forest, begging to be unleashed, to be spoken. He couldn’t say it. Gustave advanced one more step, breaking through the threshold and entering the room. He secured the door shut behind him with a quiet _click_.

_I love you, Taina_ , he thought. _Please keep hanging on._

He may not have been able to say it, but he’d show it. Prove it. Come hell or high water, he would wordlessly make sure she knew that he loved her, and nothing—neither dire straits nor death itself—would ever change that.


	2. City of Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s finally time. You all asked for it! Behold—Paris! Almost 11K words of it. Sorry… I got a bit carried away, but it is broken up into parts if you don’t like longer one shots. If you do like them longer, strap in. Book an appointment with your dentist. Pure, utterly tooth-rotting Parisian fluff. Here we go!

The moment she had seen land through the clouds, her insides started vibrating. Minutes upon minutes ago—stomach lurching and fizzing and rolling, tingles invading her fingertips, her blood beating cold and fast with a foreign enthralment she hadn’t felt in ages. And now, feet rooted to the cream coloured linoleum floor of the Charles de Gaulle, absolutely nothing had changed. Instead, every sensation increased by tenfold. Even though it was just another airport. Nothing beautiful or romantic about it, but still—toting a heavier-than-necessary suitcase behind her, hand securely clasped onto Gustave’s, he guided her out of the airport terminal and into the open air.

Setting out into the heat ripped a thrilled chill through her entire body. Colours, blindingly pigmented and vivid. A foreign landscape and scenery. Some whole other world as if enduring a beautiful hallucination. Cars and taxis zipped around each other. Slowing, and merging, and parking, and racing off to who knew where. Taina watched them all while Gustave caught the attention of a nearby taxi driver waiting to be paid to move.

The taxi driver ushered them to turn over their luggage. Gustave surrendered his before removing Taina’s from her grip and, out of a task, he then stepped over to the rear passenger door of the sleek, perfectly clean black car. The door plucked open with a pop. He held it open for her as she made her way over and plopped down onto the leather seat.

“Excited?” he asked.

A small smile surfaced with a pinkish flush in her cheeks. Her seatbelt clicked into place, and she nodded.

Gustave smiled back at her, and after making sure the hem of her sundress and all limbs were tucked in, he gently closed the door.

Alone in the car—free from the bustling people and the honking horns with only faint echoes of that ruckus bleeding in, she sighed. The vehicle’s dry air conditioning blasted from the centre vents in the front dashboard. Dry, artificially scented like pine, but refreshing in the summer heat. 

And still better than airplane air.

Gustave entered the car next followed by the driver. The two exchanged words in quick French that Taina didn’t even bother trying to keep up with or translate. Her mind was too busy buzzing. Presumably trifling questions anyway—business or pleasure; length of stay; destination.

While they spoke, Taina kept her face to the window. Peering into passing vehicles, at all the people going different places. At French signs. At the greenery threatening to encroach upon the highway they drove down. That sight of greenery out her window slowly but surely morphed into something more urban—small, unassuming buildings. Businesses, restaurants, shops. After some time, the buildings became bigger. Growing towards the sky, taking up more and more space, and the number of cars seemed to multiply until Taina thought they were drowning in a river of metal and tires. 

And then out of nowhere, upon driving under an arbitrary overpass, Gustave reached out his right hand and stole hers from its resting place upon her knee. 

His touch summoned her attention. Taina turned to look at him, blinking away the semi-permanent blur reeling behind her hazel eyes. She peered down at her own hand to watch his fingers tease hers apart and weave between them. Warm and comforting. Gustave gave her hand one affectionate but firm squeeze. Her gaze wafted up—to his face, beaming like he had won the lottery. Like every one of his dreams had come true. 

Maybe they had.

“ _Bienvenue à Paris, ma chérie_ ,” he whispered.

* * *

Voices from hundreds upon hundreds of people roared through the glass-cased pyramid. The sound, like some raging late night gale on a stormy, black sea. Taina narrowed her eyes—looking through the diamond-shaped panes reinforced by metal. White water spewed into the air from a fountain outside; she could hear its tune resounding through her mind. Her imagination singing a song. The splashing and babbling. Behind that spout: the huge golden-brown palace with its ink black rooftops and domes engulfing the entire area. The last of the outside world faded from view as they descended the escalator. She flung her head back, tail of her braid grazing at the skin between both shoulder blades exposed by the square back of her dress. The tickles sent a shiver down her spine. In defiance of all the warm sunlight flooding in through the glass like a monsoon, goosebumps trickled over her arms. A chill? Or adrenaline? Staring up at the apex of the pyramid, she marvelled at such architecture. That crystal clear zenith slowly slipping further and further away until Gustave nudged at her, escorting her away from the foot of the escalator before she face planted onto the ground and got trampled by a horde of tourists.

“The first thing you should know about The Louvre,” Gustave said, guiding the way to a significantly shorter line than that for the ticket booth, “is that you’re never going to see everything in one go.”

Taina adjusted one of the thins traps of her brown leather backpack purse weighed down by water bottles and a stockpile of snacks to get them through the afternoon. Granola bars, fruit, pretzels. Items scavenged from both the airport and the hotel. “That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.”

“It’s just fact. That goes for all of Paris. You’re never going to see it all in one trip—especially in only a couple days.”

Her lips pulled into a taut straight line, on the verge of a frown.

At that Gustave leaned in and, voice dwindling to a sweet, airy hush, said, “Unfortunately the only remedy is to come back again.”

She smirked, nudging her elbow into his arm, forcing him to back away just as they approached the advance ticket entry. The employee scanned their tickets. _Beep. Beep._ And just like that, access to some of the greatest manmade creations in history.

“Oh no,” she said, following him off to the side. Enthusiasm flirted with sarcasm in her voice. “How will I ever manage?”

He chuckled and returned their spent tickets to his pocket. Hands free, he stepped over to a long curved wooden desk lined with stacks of papers. Floor maps. In a dozens of different languages. He plucked one of the English pamphlets from the top just to turn around and hand it to her. “It’s probably best to only focus on a few exhibits.”

She unfolded the map. And then unfolded it again, and then again, eyes widening. The museum’s magnitude finally settling into her mind. _Merda. He wasn’t kidding._ Her eyes skimmed through exhibits, wings, levels, and collections. 

Gustave peeked over her shoulder at the pamphlet, giving it a once-over before turning his attention to her perplexed face. “Any that catch your eye?”

“Not really. I’m no art connoisseur.” Taina semi -folded the map back up again and whirled around to face him instead. The flowy skirt of her periwinkle summer dress fluttered with her—like dancing through water. “What do you like here?”

“Most of it.”

“Okay. What’s your favourite thing to see?”

“Everything,” Gustave said, shoulders bouncing in a faint shrug. “It’s all very beautiful.”

“ _Caralho!_ Fine, but what’s the one most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen here then?” she asked.

Her sights flickered up from the complex diagram of the museum and got lost in his tender brown eyes committed to memorizing every piece of her—her dark hair. Intense eyes. Pale lips. That built yet curved physique. Her entire body trembled under his stare. She felt her heart accelerate, kicking into double time and thrashing around her rib cage. A sensation that snuffed out the torrent of chatter and shouts and laughter bouncing through the glassy atrium. Deaf—to everything not consuming her whole and feeding a smouldering fire within. Just her heart and his breaths which waltzed across the skin of her face and nothing more. 

Gustave beamed at her with all the sweetness and light the universe could offer.

But she saw the mischief in that smile, and comprehension sank in just as quick. 

“Do not—”

“You.”

Taina groaned and swatted at his upper arm with the half-folded, half-bent map. Despite the outer corner of her lip tugging up. And the rosy blush invading her cheeks. And the unnamed something swelling with joy in the core of her very being. “No.”

“I had to.”

“No.”

“Alright,” he said, surrendering his grin. He plucked the pamphlet from her hand, considered unfolding the mess of paper for a second, then changed his mind. He tucked it under his left arm instead. “I particularly enjoy Eugène Delacroix and Jacques-Louis David. The Egyptian antiquities section is fascinating. The Greek-Etruscan-Roman antiquities is a must. The statues are otherworldly.”

“Otherworldly,” she echoed. “Let’s start there.”

“ _Très bien_.”

Gustave gave her an affirmative nod and then held out his folded right arm for her to take. Taina rolled her eyes—but then she slipped her arm through his and let him guide the way. Through a seemingly arbitrary open doorway. Down a beige-cream walkway filled with light and space. And she couldn’t help but notice as they strolled down that wide but busy corridor, absolutely no one noticed her. Either of them. So she snuggled in closer to him, never missing a step. Close enough to breathe him in. To have that woodsy, musk scent of him fill her lungs untainted for once by the smell of latex gloves or bleach or that musty dank smell permanently embedded in every square inch of Hereford base. They wove through clusters of people, slowly passing textured oil paintings suspended on thick wires and secured in even thicker frames, pure gold and ornamented with vines and laurels. Different versions of Mary and an infant Jesus. Different stations of the cross. Other Christian parables and scenes she couldn’t make out or remember despite having known so many in her youth. _Grandma would not be pleased,_ Taina mused. Entering another doorway, all paintings fell away. Replacing them—endless marvels of bright white marble. Statues, busts, reliefs.

“Whoa,” she muttered. 

Her arm slipped out of Gustave’s. With no tether, she roamed freely, beyond even her own control. Possessed by wonder; enticed by beauty. Taina circled around each and every piece of art. Occasionally stealing glances at the small accompanying plaques providing information on the work and the artist. Mythological figures: Roman goddesses, heroes, satyrs; Greek gods, nymphs, and centaurs. Roman emperor after Roman emperor—Augustus, Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, Nero. She entered a second chamber of statues and came to a sudden standstill. 

Directly to her left, catching brilliant yellow-white sunlight, a ground level statue of two figures. 

Taina shuffled over, ducking behind an elderly man taking a swig from a plastic water bottle until she was directly in front of the sculpture. There, she came to an utter standstill. Her head tilted to the left. Wonder and rumination robbed her of the ability to do much else. 

Two nude figures—caught in an embrace. 

An angelic, winged man had one hand supporting the head of a fainted woman while the other arm hooped around her chest, fingertips gently pressing into her impossibly smooth skin. Taina didn’t know where to look. The lithe, dainty muscles. The woman’s delicate arms curved up around the angel’s head, her fingers lost in marble curls. Their lips, painstakingly close—at the precipice of passion. Carved linens draped delicately across the woman’s hips and legs. Individual striation-ridden feathers composed the man’s heavenly wings jutting into the air. 

Standing straight, righting her horribly slanted vision, she circled around the statue, surveying other smaller details: a quiver of arrows strapped to his chest, one solitary arrow resting on the ground next to him as he kneeled, padded by the same cloth entangling the woman. A Grecian jug lay abandoned next to the woman’s limp and sprawled legs.

Taina wandered around to the front of the statue again and tried to piece together the images into a coherent tale. To decipher their body language. To try and figure out why beholding such a work of art tugged on every heart string, setting them all alight, and made her stomach do flips.

Vibrant navy invaded her peripheral vision—Gustave’s dress shirt when he stepped over and joined her.

“ _Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss_ ,” he said. Burying either hand in his pants pockets, he nodded at the sculpture. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

With the flittering sunlight and the snow white marble, both Cupid and Psyche seemed to glow like celestial bodies in the sky.

 _Beautiful_. 

So much tangible rapture. The sight of which ignited an overwhelming sense of yearning deep within from her very soul. Something that could have easily been jealousy. ‘ _I wonder what that must be like,_ ’ some instinctual part of her wondered before reality finally dawned on her.

She really didn’t have to wonder at all.

“Will you take me back here?” she asked, eyes never deviating from the mythological lovers and their eternal moment of love and intimacy.

“To the Louvre?”

“To Paris.”

Gustave chuckled quietly to himself, but he glanced over to watch her gaping at the artwork before them. “You like Paris?”

“I’m still here, and I already want to come back.”

It was inexplicable really. Beyond reason, beyond sanity.

Mere hours had passed, and she couldn’t name a single street— _rue_ —to save her damn life, yet she felt safe in such a refuge. Both perfectly real and unreal. A lovely paradox. Such a mad world where a city she had barely stepped foot in could make her feel so at home and familiarized. The same mad world where a modified slab of marble could move her so deeply and leave her in awe of a fictitious love. And that wasn’t the only awe-inspiring love taking her over. Everything was so different in Paris. Inverted and flipped upside down until almost unrecognizable, yet she loved it. She could feel how different she was. _Even he’s different here_ , she remarked to herself.

She wasn’t Caveira. He wasn’t Doc.

They weren’t even Taina and Gustave. They were nobody. Just two people in love.

They were Psyche and Cupid. 

“Always,” he said as a fresh group of tourists began swarming the statue. He removed his hands from his pockets and side shuffled over, nestling up beside her. “Whenever you want.”

Taina shifted to catch a full view of him. The deep blue of his dress shirt emphasized the medium-dark tone of his skin. Beams of afternoon light over his face caught the silver strands of his hair, making him wince—dark, thick eyebrows furrowing—through the brightness to glance back at her. That same light nurtured the small smile on his lips into an enthralled grin.

Hand hanging at her side, she felt Gustave’s fingertips kiss hers; his index finger, stroking the back of her hand. His pinkie finger nudged at her palm. Urging her hand closer, teasing her fingers into blossoming open and granting him access to trail his fingers down her palm and to slip them between hers. 

Securing her grip on his warm, strong hand and wholly ignoring the red hot flames pooling in her cheeks, Taina smiled right back at him.

* * *

Gustave snatched Taina’s wrist, his grip—more assertive than anything else. Understandably so because half a second later, the elevator doors peeled open and then a herd of people swept the both of them out like some rogue wave at sea. Organized chaos. People pushed and shoved for the next ride up to the summits of the Eiffel Tower. Clinging to each other, they fought their way through the packed crowd. All those bodies polluting the air with heat, humidity, and body odour. Finally free from the flock, they took their time strolling through the base, right underneath the metal structure, hand in hand, until they exited through the tall turnstiles and stumbled onto the sidewalk, staring down the iconic Pont d’Iéna. 

Taina replayed the images back in her frazzled mind. Even though all she saw was a striking blur of beige architecture, breathtaking though it was, Gustave was able to point out a number of cultural and personal landmarks—different museums, palaces, the hospital where he spent his residency, his alma mater, the area he grew up in. And to combat any rising vertigo while on the summit of the cultural landmark, she counted bridges, like the Pont de Bir-Hakeim which they had walked down, while sunlight glinted off the small ripples through the Seine. Even as they waited at the crosswalk, feeling much safer with her feet on solid ground, staring back at the iron lady, neck craning up to see its full scale—it dizzied her. Eyes playing little tricks with her mind to make the thing seem to grow in a split second. So staggering. 

No longer compacted between a flurry of tourists and men trying to sell flowers, Gustave released her wrist and laced his fingers through hers instead. “What did you think?”

“It was very high,” she said sarcastically, stating the more than obvious. Then she sighed, swinging their hands through the air for a wistful moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that view out of my mind.”

“Wait until you see a view _with_ the Eiffel Tower.”

“Either way, it was amazing,” she said. “Despite you embarrassing me.”

“How did I embarrass you?”

“By insisting on taking 70,000 photos of me.”

“It was five photos.”

Taina, rubbernecking, narrowed her eyes and batted her long black lashes at him twice.

“Fifteen photos. How is having your photo taken at a tourist epicentre in any way embarrassing? You stood in front of the Venus de Milo at the Louvre a few hours ago and said out loud, ‘she has nicer tits than I do.’” The cluster of people in front of them began crossing the the trek across the busy street, and the both of them followed suit. Then Gustave added, “Which isn’t true for the record.”

She chuckled at her own comment and its poor taste. “ _Hah_. Yeah.”

A woman loitered at the corner of the crosswalk busking with an accordion—so stereotypical Taina had to grin. The musical tune drowned out squealing tires from passing vehicles and the mutters of passersby. 

“It’s embarrassing because I don’t like being photographed. And some of those pictures are of both of us.”

“Oh, so you don’t like taking pictures with _me_?” he joked, playing offended. At that he tugged on her hand, sending her body careening against his. 

“I do,” Taina laughed out, other hand gripping onto his bicep to steady her lopsided strides. Though she would never, ever admit it out loud and she’d probably punch the person who dare say the same thing to her face, even she thought they were kind of cute. “But now that’s just evidence, and watch, since I swear she does it for sport, Dokkaebi will hack your phone or some shit and then— is that a carousel?”

Gustave peered over to his left, squinting to see better in the sunshine just as she was. It hid tucked behind small kiosks selling souvenirs, shirts, totes, sunglasses—everything imaginable. A rainbow of colours framed by gold accents rising into the sky, the striped pinnacle mimicking a circus tent twirling the entire time.

“Oh. _Oui_.”

“There’s a carousel outside the Eiffel Tower?”

“There’s somewhere around twenty scattered all throughout the city. Quite ridiculously, there’s actually one on the other side of this bridge.”

 _Huh_.

They continued roaming down Pont d’Iéna in the blistering summer heat. Weaving their way through vendors with goods laid out on square blankets—hats, art canvases, mini Eiffel Tower statues in a myriad of colours. Ducking around tourists trying to snap an idyllic photograph of the Eiffel Tour. Halfway across the bridge, Gustave pulled her over to the side railing. She leaned forward and caught a view of the rippling, blue Seine just as a white double-decker river boat sailed out from underneath them. After clearing the bridge, Taina found the aforementioned and wholly unnecessary second carousel off to the side with its pointed top. But something else immediately leeched away her attention—the sound of splashing water. 

Step after step, the sound crescendoed. And then suddenly out of nowhere the audial stimulus synced with the landscape encroaching into view.

Down a steep slope of green grass, a huge pool of water. Jets spewing water everywhere. Into the fountain from the sides. Straight up in spouts. Further back, a raised semicircular area with a waterfall and what appeared to be row after row of water cannons.

Which was a marvel in and of itself.

But to see a hundred people splashing through said fountain?

Her jaw dropped, head snapping to address Gustave. “People are allowed to swim through here?”

“Not always, but sometimes.”

“Isn’t it city property or something?”

Neither of them noticed the exact moment or how it occurred, but suddenly with double the speed she was guiding him: down the slope, past concrete tableaus, along the edge of the fountain ornamented with large pointed shrubs, like fantastical vernal dollops while someone blasted contemporary music from somewhere undecipherable.

Gustave released her hand. A movement permitting him to roll up the left sleeve of his navy dress shirt to match the other sleeve. As such, she drifted away—though not far, right along walkway where water stained and darkened the concrete. He told her, “During the summers when there are heat waves like right now, the mayor grants permission.”

Even standing near the brink felt cooler. The breeze off the water, the imperceptible droplets occupying the air. Her skin ached. Lusting for relief from the heat. To satiate the fire radiating through her flesh. She continued along the side of the fountain, deafened by the roaring splashes: the soundtrack of a wet monsoon or some serene hurricane.

Taina twirled around, braid lashing at her cheek, hands buried in the pockets of her dress. Letting disbelief steer her voice off its typical rocky tone, shooting into something higher and much more jovial, she reiterated, “So you can just go splashing through a ginormous fountain in front of the Eiffel Tower?”

Gustave flashed a pleased little grin. “ _Ouais_.”

Taina rolled her shoulder, flicking loose one strap of the brown leather backpack clinging to her followed by the other, sending it crashing onto the ground. One foot stepping on her own heel, she kicked her white sneakers off; both ankle socks went next.

“Ah,” Gustave said, brushing back the tuft of hair hanging over his forehead as he nodded.“You’re taking that as an invitation?”

“You should be happy. I’d probably do it without the invitation. Or permission for that matter.”

Standing upright again, she then winked.

Gustave’s right eyebrow danced skyward, embedding wrinkles across his forehead. Thin peony pink lips screwed into a shade of a frown to smother his chuckle. Hands, braced against the crest of his hips, right against the tawny leather belt securing his khaki brown slacks. Trying not to smile, Gustave shook his head at her.

Taina stuck her tongue out like a five-year-old. 

One quick spin back around, she gathered up the hem of her dress, blue cotton bunched between every finger, and dipped one foot into the blissfully cool water. Her toes found a small ledge submerged under the pale, aquamarine-coloured water. She lowered her right foot onto the step and then all but hopped off it.

Water splashed around her, drowning most of her dress’ A-line. Deeming the effort futile, she let it go, watching the hem sink in the basin. It flowed with the ripples. Wading further out into the fountain, sloshing with every step, sending water up her thighs and spattering at her hips, pleased her. It assuaged the embers broiling away under the skin. So refreshing and euphoric she had to throw her head back and sigh. A headrush blinded her—even before her eyes peeled open and greeted sunlight.

When she snuck a glance over her shoulder, she caught the expression colouring Gustave’s defined face: soft eyes. An unconscious smile. Head tilted to the side.

Admiration, desire—pure love. Over the weeks which compiled into months, him declaring such emotions was something she had learned to adjust to. Recognizing those emotions, feeling them flood through her heart and soul, without a single utterance... That she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to.

Taina shifted back around, hauling the soaked bottom of her dress with her, and when she did, Gustave immediately resumed his head-shaking. Facetious. Endearing, and unbeknownst to him definitely egging her on. She hunched forward. Fingers, wriggling through the water. She cupped a handful to smear down her boiling arms or dribble over her shoulders and chest bared by the spaghetti straps and low sweetheart neckline.

She flung water in Gustave’s direction instead.

“Ah!” He stumbled back just in time to dodge the globs hurtling towards him. The water spattered over the cement. Droplets misting his brown leather shoes and the pile of her items left discarded along the side of the fountain. “ _Taina!_ ”

A laugh bubbled in the back of her throat, stifled only by the teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. But she left him alone after that, taking to trudging along the concrete border. On the verge of leaving him behind.

“What is this place?” she called out, words barely surfacing over all the laughs and shouts and rushing water.

“The area is called Trocadéro.”

Gustave’s rocky, heavily accented voice danced on the wind, dwindled by distance. 

She twisted around to find him crouched down at the border of the reflecting pool. Scavenging all of her items—her purse, her shoes stuffed with socks—he secured them all in his arms before standing. Then he moved, pursuing her from his position on dry land. The strap of her backpack whacked at his hip as he did so. Gustave serpentined around another shrub, between a couple taking photos, and a group of friends sunbathing to keep pace with her in the water. “They built a palace here for one of the World Fairs in the 1800s. Over time they demolished some of it, built this new palace, the Palais de Chaillot, added the gardens. This,” he said, nudging his head in her general vicinity, “is the Fountain of Warsaw, but most people just refer to it all as the Jardins du Trocadéro or the Trocadéro Fountains.”

She followed the perimeter, him mirroring her every move until she realized could stroll no longer; five tall tiers, like a stairway for giants lay before her and blocked that path. Each spurting more water.

Gustave stalled and lingered in place to avoid the jets shooting water straight up into the sky and the subsequently cascading water. He lowered her accessories onto the ground at his feet and then shot her a quizzical look. “Cooled off now?”

She shrugged. “Meh.”

“Staying in longer then?”

Taina reached a hand glistening with beaded water out to him. Beckoning him. Wordlessly asking him to join her even though she was almost certain he’d refuse.

He shook his head again.

“You’re going to leave me in here alone?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“But I’m alone,” Taina countered. And then her bottom lip jutted out in a wounded little pout. 

“ _Non_ ,” Gustave begged. “Please don’t do that.”

She extended both hands this time, droplets flinging back into the fountain of choppy ripples from children failing limbs and running around. “Come with me then.”

“Taina…”

Armed with no other words, he returned to shaking his head.

She flopped her shoulders once more. Already committing to her prank. Vowing to herself—he’d have to haul her out before she exited. At the head of the basin, no further to go, she crept over to the small semicircle basin fed by a curved waterfall above which sat the row of cannons. 

“Taina!”

Hitching up her sopping wet dress, foot braced against the step hiding under white water, she climbed up and over the lip of the upper pool. Water surged against her hips. Arms getting soaked. Choppy water poured down the concrete rim and sloshed into the shallow basin, water lapping against her lower calves. Victorious she stood. 

“ _Taina_ ,” Gustave called out again—voice even drawling on that finally vowel.

She spun in place. Spray from the waterfall breathed down her back. 

On higher ground, the entire scale of the fountain struck her, igniting an inspired smile over her face. A delightful sight.

All her attention centralized on a more beautiful one though. 

Gustave stood all by his lonesome in an arms-crossed stance. Hand hovering in the air to shield her eyes from the unforgiving sun, she studied his form. Stern and brawny. Sandy brown pants sporting dark spots around the ankles. Navy button up dress shirt. Rolled up sleeves stopped just below the elbows drawing all the attention to the gleaming silver watch strapped to his wrist. Blacker than night hair for sunny beams to bounce off of. The silver strands sprouting from his temples turning frosty white. And as he stood there, both completely stunned and stunning, it became obvious to her that he didn’t know what to do or how to proceed.

At an impasse, an equally adorable and amusing spectacle.

Gustave Kateb—elite Rainbow operator. Highly regarded medic.

Looking lost in his own birth place. Dark eyes surveyed everyone else squealing in joy. He huffed. Mouth hanging open, one hand rubbing at his jaw—dumbfounded. 

Taina chuckled to herself. Then she stretched a hand out to him once more.

Gustave’s broad shoulders slumped, and to no one’s surprise, he shook his head again. 

But then he cracked; a toothy grin blazing across his face. Getting down onto one knee, his fingers fiddled with the knotted strings of his brown shoes. When he hooked a finger under the cross-crossed laces and tugged to loosen them, he peered back up at her—still smiling.

Taina’s dear heart stuttered. 

Despite where she stood—elevated, front and center, and entirely alone—she felt perfectly invisible.

To everyone else except him.

 _Strange_ , she thought, _to feel like nothing and like everything all at once_.

She watched him remove both shoes, setting them neatly aside with her backpack and sneakers. Both socks off, Gustave advanced two paces, right at the lip of the fountain. He let lose an exaggerated and entirely artificial groan before stepping into the water. Large, lunging steps flung water around him as he hiked over to the upper basin upon which she stood like a mythical being on a pedestal. Standing directly in front of her, he halted. Palms, scrubbing together like they basked in their dryness. Smile—still active on his lips.

“You win,” he said.

“Where’s my prize?”

“Me trekking through knee-deep water in designer pants isn’t a sufficient prize?”

“Nuh-uh.” Taina pivoted again. Poking an index finger at the waterfall—like prodding at a sheet of glass. Yet the stream of water split upon her touch. 

In spite of the noisy splashes, she still heard him sigh. 

A quick glimpse over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion. Gustave gripped onto the lip of the upper basin and began heaving himself up to reunite with her. And just as she heard him release a long breath lined with a relieved sigh, she stepped through the waterfall. Refreshing—a baptism in the Parisian sun. 

Water went everywhere. Through her hair, over her face, down her shoulders and under the bodice of her dress. Drenching her.

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” Gustave whined. 

He shoved a hand through the water. Impatient. Blindly grabbing for her—and missing. 

“Not even close!” she called out to him. 

Taina backed away for good measure. Senses piqued, ready to move—throughly acquainted with the innate determination which fuelled the man on the other side of that crystalline barrier. _I wonder how much more of this game he can take..._ That unfamiliar and largely reserved softer side of her being figured she shouldn’t test those boundaries. Just to be safe. The idea of pissing him off made her stomach drop.

Both hands scooping up the bottom of her dress, she mentally prepared herself for another shot of cold water about to swamp her from head to toe. _One, two, three—_

Gustave bursted headlong through the wall of falling water. 

She yelped. His brash movements casted droplets onto her, and she recoiled.

His hands found her hips next. He steered her back, before he even blinked the water out of his eyes and off his lashes. Her spine collided into the massive square concrete pillar supporting the crest of the fountain.

Taina gaped at him, mouth hanging open.

Two thrashes of the head back and forth shook the water off. His eyes coaxed open, and seeing those rich, brown irises, she became spellbound by him. All of him. That familiar and irresistible face composed of a strong and defined jawline, thick and dramatic brows, a perfectly straight nose, and tantalizing pale lips.

Lips that crashed landed onto hers and swept her into a fervent kiss.

Pinned against the concrete slab, Taina tugged him closer. Craving him closer. Arm around his waist, one hand braced against the back of his head. Until his hips banged against hers and their chests squished together—completely flush. Until the pressure of his lips moving against hers enticed her mouth into slipping open for him to take advantage of. Tongues stroking, kiss deepening. Trembling, Taina breathed a sigh into him. 

The roaring water encasing them suddenly hushed, extinguished. 

Gustave severed their kiss. Inching away, he snuck one last final peck then propped his forehead against hers. 

Her eyes flickered open to find him admiring her with wide, endearing eyes. His chuckle scattered across her wet face. Locks of hair in a medley of shades—silver, grey, black white—were glued to his temple and fed the small stream of water dribbling down his clean-shaven cheek.

A winsome smile formed on Taina’s lips which seemed to vibrate from the inside out. Still under the influence of his taste.

She reached up and combed back the sopping clumps of hair from his face, allowing her fingers indulge in the sensation, the softness. Her hand trailed down his neck next, following the line along his shoulder before skating down his arm. Over that drenched dress shirt now plastered to his skin. Slick fabric emphasized the musculature of his bicep. The tour of his body resumed; her thumb delicately traced the curving journey of a vein protruding from his forearm all the way down to his wrist. 

It was only then that it occurred to her how in full view they were of a hundred people, and some deeply entrenched paranoia pulsed through her.

She nudged him away, breaking out of his hold and stepping around him. The waterfall had ceased. Only drips descended from the concrete structure overhead—shimmering crystals catching sunlight. As such, only a lush landscape filled her vision. Taina, weighed down by her saturated clothing, waddled out from under the fountain and into the light.

Gobsmacked by such a picturesque view, she halted, marvelling.

A water show of vertical jets and arching streams framing the colossal Eiffel Tower plunging up into a flawless, clear blue sky.

Three quick splashes sounded from behind her, and then Gustave’s warm and robust arms snaked around her body, capturing her in a loving embrace.

“That was a much better prize,” she said. 

Runoff dripped down on them. Imperceptible. Gustave nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. There, he laughed. Breaths, spilling over her bare shoulder, and then he dusted the skin there with one tiny kiss. “Agreed.”

_Whoosh!_

Taina flinched. The cannons overhead exploded, blasting water streams dozens and dozens of metres ahead. People shrieked. Scattering like mice as the massive jet pummelled them. Even though a veil of mist began soaking her and Gustave again, she grinned. 

Her hand blanketed over his securely hooked around her waist. “I think I’m officially cooled off.”

“ _Parfait!_ ”

He took his arms back, freeing her, and escorted her to the side of the basin. Out of the cannons’ blast zone. Taina watched him carefully hop down off the edge and land with a splash. She loitered behind him. And just as she peeled the bottom of her dress away from her thighs, Gustave whirled back around and held both arms open to help her off the ledge. Her hands bracing his shoulders, his gripping onto her hips, he helped her down. Unnecessary, Taina figured. But another opportunity to cling to each other—even briefly? She would take it. After leaping down, they waded over to the outer wall of the fountain and climbed out.

“Well what now, that we’re both drenched?” Gustave asked, pausing to scrub a hand over his face and banish the water from his eyes. “I don’t think they’ll let us into the Musée d’Orsay like this.”

Taina leaned over and wrung out the hem of her dress. Water surged between her fingers and spattered onto the concrete. A warm gust of wind carrying faint cigarette smoke spritzed more mist into her face even from their place near the grass. She plucked both socks out of her sneakers, hopping in place while trying to slip them back on without toppling over. “Water dries. Especially while strolling aimlessly in the sun and a light breeze. Don’t you French have a word for that?”

“Do we?” he asked, sly and feigning dumb. 

“ _Flâner_ , I believe.”

“Oh, _flâner_. _Oui_.” Finished doing up the laces on both shoes, he picked up her brown leather backpack and extended it out to her. “You’re much too good at learning French.”

While wriggling her foot back into her sneakers, she smirked at him. “A tourist hand out at the hotel taught me that one.”

Gustave laughed at the candid response. Fully dressed, she reclaimed her purse and slipped her arms through both straps. Still thoroughly drenched, he extended an arm out that she immediately clutched onto. “Shall we then?”

“ _Oui_.”

* * *

Wander they did, though mostly nearby. Sticking to the heart of the city. The Eiffel Tower always somewhere in the corner of her sights. And after finishing a late apértif and an even later dinner at a rustic bistro, fuelling up on duck confit with roasted potatoes, Gustave guided them back towards the Eiffel Tower. Passing intersections and landmarks, something like a map crystallized in her mind. 

One hand clutched Gustave’s as they walked, but with her free hand she pointed to the left. “So we are taking the Pont d’Iena over the Seine River to get to...”

“Champ de Mars,” he filled in. 

“Right. Champ de Mars in order to...”

“Good try.”

“Ugh,” Taina groaned, readjusting her hold on his hand. He still refused to tell her where they were going—or rather, why. They had already seen the tower; they had already been _inside_ the Eiffel Tower. Even from where they stood, she could already see the golden glow high and bright in the semi-darkness. Its bluish beacon slowly spiralled and cut through the sky like a knife. So what was left? All she knew—whatever was left lay inside Champ de Mars, and they had thirty minutes to kill. Voice deflated she nudged her head to the right. “Jardins du something.”

“Trocadéro.”

“Yes, the fountain. Wait—”

She stalled right in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Gustave to halt two steps ahead of her. Hands still locked together, a frown tainted his face. 

But hers—hers lit up with a dangerous smirk. Devilry, exhilaration all rolled into a volatile expression.

“ _The fountain_.”

Taina rushed off ahead, lugging Gustave behind her. Veering a hard right, she ran them across the street and further away from the bridge and in turn the Eiffel Tower for a quick side stop. For in the distance across a sprawling cobblestone intersection, twirling red and white stripes caught her eye. 

“ _S’il te plaît, ma puce_ ,” he said, half begging and half laughing yet wholly obliging her. He jogged in her wake until they both stopped at a crosswalk to wait. “I think my bones are still drenched.”

“No, no. Better.”

“Uh-oh.”

The light flashed, and she took off again. The fountains to their right, significantly less occupied with the sleeping sun and the cooling temperatures. The jets had ceased and the orchestra of shouts, laughter, and splashes drew silent. Crossing the street, another tune waltzed on the wind instead—upbeat carnivalesque music. Their pace hitched up from a brisk jog to a subtle sprint.

Sectioned off with a few food stands, kiosks, and a ticket booth—the carousel. 

Small yellow lights embroidered everything: the tip, the panelling, the ceiling, the beams, the stairs. _Everything_. The illumination whirled, hypnotizing, through the newborn dusk. Taina released Gustave’s hand to tour the double decker carousel. Run of the mill rows of white stallions. Interspersed between them though, a menagerie of other seats. A wooden biplane. Ornate egg shell carriage seats. A cream and red hot air balloon supported by a small square wicker basket seat. On the upper level, more horses and wooden swing seats and benches. As the earth sighed once more, a warm puff of air swam through her hair, loose and down and still damp at the roots. The scent of sugar filled her nose. Sugar and butter—some kind of confectionary or baked good.

The carousel completed its last sluggardly rotation before the mechanics groaned and the merry-go-round came to a halt. Having passed up the opportunity once before, she rejected the very notion of not taking it this time.

“Want to—?”

Her head snapped to the right to convince Gustave to join her only to find no one there.

He was gone. To the left, vacant stairs leading up to the Trocadéro gardens. Eyebrows furrowed, she meandered a few steps back around to seek him out.

She was learning the city, but not that well _._

Hyperaware eyes darted in the hunt while she moved around people: a middle-aged man taking photographs of their child hopping off one of the horses. A group of teenage girls running by. 

And then she found him.

A familiar thrill zapped through her flesh at that sight committed to memory—the contrasts. Light brown pants with the dark blue of a midnight sky; raven black hair peppered with gunmetal grey strands. Gustave leaned forward through the open window of a small kiosk with white awnings on either side.

Taina began the brief walk to join him when he suddenly spun on his heel and made his way back over. It took only a few paces for them to meet half way. She opened her mouth to speak. To jokingly scold him for leaving her. To ramble on about the daring adventure she’d surely have trying to get back to the hotel on her own.

But before any words slipped out, Gustave stuck his hand out. Palm up. Fingers waggling, beckoning for hers.

One eyebrow flicked up. She kept both hands still at her side, not able to fully read his vacant expression. Those deep brown eyes surveyed his own empty palm before fluttering back to meet hers. 

Despite leering with the utmost apprehension, Taina still placed her hand in his.

And the moment she did, Gustave’s fingers circled around her wrist, flipping her hand over, and then his other hand placed something in hers. 

Taina stared down at her palm.

In it, a tiny little slip of paper approving her admission to ride. Head snapping up, she shot him a grin so wide her face almost hurt, but then it faded like a ghost. “You’re not—?”

Gustave’s left hand flashed an identical piece of paper pinched between two fingers. His right arm flung out next, and he gestured towards the break in the gate for them to enter.

“ _Après vous._ ”

She rushed back around the carousel with that same grin returning to her lips. The metal stairs going to the second level clanked and squealed with each pounding, enthused step. _Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank._ Hopping that final stair, she analyzed her options. Striding around the deck. Passing horse after horse and a number of bench seats installed into the wall of the merry-go-round. 

The carousel jolted, slow and resistant, but moving.

Taina gripped onto the nearest golden beam for balance and picked a random horse. White—with a black tail and missing a chunk of paint near the mouth forever silently neighing. She quickly hiked up the hem of her dress enough to climb up and settle onto the burnt orange saddle. It was frigid against her bare thighs. Gustave sank into the wooden bench ahead of her, suspended in the air by straps like some kind of porch swing. And then they were spinning and bobbing to the plunky music blaring from the roof, and she couldn’t hold back the surging laughter shaking her.

Head thrown back, wind combing through her long hair, Taina closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure when or why she had become a complete child on this trip. Probably some deep-seated desire to live out the fun, crime-free childhood she really had. Whether it had been robbed from her or she had lost it, given it away. It made no difference. Maybe she wasn’t even childish at all. Perhaps foolish was a better word. _Stupid_. But what was one to do? Love, she was figuring out, made you stupid. And she was in Paris.

 _And the only thing more foolish than being in Paris_ , she thought, _is being in love in Paris._

Her eyes slipped open and were greeted by vignettes painted into the ceiling. The same ones along the carousel’s exterior panels trimmed with gold. Individual landscapes of various Parisian hallmarks. Directly overhead, a column in an empty square.

Her head slunk down. Ahead of her, Gustave perched on the swing chair. Left leg up on the seat, upper body twisted halfway around to stare at her. His arm, slung lazily over the backrest. 

“You know, my main objective on this trip has been to annoy you so much that you regret taking me here,” she said, voice achingly low and solemn despite the blatant lie. Her attention strayed from him—to the brilliantly glowing Eiffel Tower. And the passing cars. And the pedestrians walking by, nobody knowing who they were or where they came from or the things they’ve done. The things they’ve had to do. “Is it working?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Fake sulking, she lolled her head. Taina caught him, smirk on face and phone in hand. Raised and centralized on her.

 _Click._ A sound that made her eyes bulge.

Taina swatted her hand at him while a growl rattled in the back of her throat, but he dodged her assaults easily. Breaking into laughter, Gustave hastily pocketed his phone. Device safely showed away, he returned to gazing at her. 

Their eyes locked. Unwavering. Starting a thousand little fires throughout her entire body. In the corners of her eyes, her own cheeks were painted bright scarlet. 

But, bathed in golden light, she could also see that Gustave was flushing too.

“You don’t regret bringing me to Paris?” she asked.

“ _Non_.”

“Even with the fountain thing?”

Gustave, a smile toying with his lips, shook his head. “ _Non_.”

“ _Merda._ Are you annoyed at least?”

He rested his left arm along the back of his seat once more. Muscles filling out the fabric of his dark blue shirt. Sleeves still up, Taina could see the scars and hairs freckling his skin. She watched him slouch, body driving into the wooden planks of the seat back, arm pillowing his head. His eyes traced lines along her silhouette. 

“I’m…” Gustave pondered for half a second, letting that smile rupture free. “Happy. I’m incredibly happy.”

All Taina could do was gawk back, head slanting against the gold beam sending her rocking. Possessed. The outskirts of her vision—the entire world—whirled around her, rising and falling, fast and colourful until nothing felt real anymore. Until she swore she was floating through a dream without an anchor.

_Me too._

* * *

They strolled out from underneath the base of the Eiffel Tower and entered the Champ de Mars. After finishing their go around the carousel, they had gotten off and made their way down the bridge—but not before Taina insisted on ordering a crêpe from the brown wooden shack-style stand nearby. It had passed her so many times on the merry-go-round. Tantalizing, filling the air she breathed with sweetness, and she caved. She fished out enough loose Euros to order one slathered with chocolate hazelnut spread—something she was almost entirely certain drove Gustave mad. As a counterargument, she pointed out the presence of bananas. And as she insightfully told him, bananas had potassium. He groaned when she subsequently utilized the word, _therefore_. 

Clearing the tower, she handed him the crêpe so she could re-braid her hair to spare it from inevitable smears of chocolate. And like their entire discussion didn’t happen, he was the first one to rip off at piece and savour the taste.

They rambled along the green fields where people sat and laid and stood in clusters. Large trees with emerald leaves trimmed into perfect squares. Shrubs along the paths, like at the fountain, sported pointed cone shapes. Installed in bunches between those shrubs, thin trees blooming thick, lush pink flowers. Like something from a fantasy or a cartoon.

“What are these trees?” she asked, taking the cardboard holder back from Gustave containing her folded crêpe. 

“Cherry blossoms. Stunning, aren’t they?”

“They’re so… _pink._ ”

Gustave chuckled, peering over at her as they walked side by side. “Do you not have them in Brazil?”

“I think there are some at a botanical garden somewhere, but not like this—out in the middle of the city. Not in Rio or São Paulo at least.”

Gustave hmm’ed to himself. While she peeled off a crispy edge of her crêpe and shovelled it into her mouth, he reached up. His fingers scrubbed along one of those many cherry blossom trees overhead before breaking off a random twig bursting with voluminous, rosy petals. He picked one blossom off the twig, stem and all, and then extended it out to Taina—a small, inconsequential gesture that lit up her face. Stem pinched between her index finger and thumb, the petals pirouetted in circles. Its scent, almost invisible. Faintly earthen and nothing else. _Still looks pretty_ , she thought, and as such, she carefully tucked it behind her left ear and then brushed the bangs out of her eye. 

“Stunning,” she barely heard Gustave mutter again. His voice, barely rising over the gravel crunching under the soles of their shoes. And this time she knew he wasn’t referring to the flora.

Taina bit down on her lip and kept her eyes on her food.

“Come,” Gustave said without warning, hand resting along the small of her back.

The slight pressure steered her towards an open spot along the sprawling grasslands. A perfect place to sit and kill time with an even more perfect vantage point of the Eiffel Tower. The same view from every photo she had ever seen of the icon—long before she ever dreamed for a moment she might see it in person one day. She sat cross-legged, pale blue dress blanketed over legs and feet. Gustave sat behind her. From there he fiddled with her braid. 

Taina plucked an exposed chunk of banana from the opening of the crêpe, and before tossing it into her mouth, she asked, “ _Ma puce?_ ”

“Hm?”

“You called me _ma puce_ earlier. I don’t know what it means.”

“Sweetheart,” Gustave admitted with a hushed voice. 

“Oh.” Normally she would rag on him for pet names because she hated them. And by hated them, of course, she meant loved them. In secret—though not really. It seemed a known fact because if Gustave really believed she actually hated them, he would never use them. But none of that interested her in the moment. She cared for the actual word. The grammar. _It’s feminine_ , she determined. But what else? She said, “Such a short word for sweetheart.”

“Well… the expression means sweetheart, not _puce_ itself.”

“ _Oh._ What does _puce_ mean then?”

“Technically it means flea, but—”

Taina aggressively ripped off another piece of the crêpe. “ _I’m your flea?_ ”

“No! It’s hard to explain.”

“You’ve called me _mon chou_ before. Do I even want to know what that translates to?”

“ _Non_ ,” he said with a voice that aimed to soothe—until it dropped in tone to something dead and flat and possibly on the verge of comical. “It’s cabbage.”

“Oh God! _”_

“But it doesn’t mean—”

“ _Cabbage?_ ” Taina groaned and, hunched forward, buried her face in her hand. _The most romantic language in the world_ , she remarked to herself. _In the city of love_ …

_Cabbage._

“Ah, hold still,” Gustave pleaded.

“Why?” She tried stealing a glance over her shoulder at him, but she saw nothing beyond the ordinary. Just him. Contentedly sitting. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

She huffed, kicking her feet out from her dress, stretching her legs towards the luminescent Eiffel Tower. The toes of her sneakers bashed together. White rubber soles, clacking with each strike. “A flea and cabbage.” Nothing but a mutter. Trying to keep the jovial tone out of her voice. “How rude.”

“Fine. No more _ma puce_ and no more _mon chou_. They are terms of endearment though.”

“I know. But isn’t there something more flattering to call me. Or something with a slightly nicer translation?”

“Well,” Gustave drawled with a playful tone, voice getting higher. “I could call you _ma chatte_.”

“I thought it was _chat,_ and that it was masculine?”

“ _Chat_ is.”

“Are you about to tell me _chat_ and _chatte_ are completely different words despite sounding almost the exact same. It’s a cat, is it not?”

“Both mean cat, yes,” he said. “Though _chatte_ is closer to pussy.”

“ _Gustave!_ ”

Just as she began twisting around to scold him further, he grabbed at her.

“Stop!” His fingers circled around her upper arms—a light force steering her back into facing the Eiffel Tower. “You’re going to ruin all my hard work.”

“You’re an ass!”

Gustave’s warm hands settled on her shoulders, pulling her back towards him until she almost lay slanted against his chest. And then he landed a quick peck on her left cheek. “I’d never call you _ma chatte_. I’d call you…” His arms hooped around her waist next. Fingertips drifting up her dress’ line of buttons, a game of connect the dots over her stomach. His other hand skated down her hip and along her thigh. “ _Mon ciel étoilé. Mon bijou. Ma reine_.”

Taina tilted her head to the side, propping her temple against his cheek. Feeling his breaths on her face. His warmth bleeding into her skin. Snuggled in so close, a mirthful pride tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m your queen?”

“Very much so,” he whispered. He let her go, giving her a nudge to sit her back up. And then she felt him teasing her hair again. “ _Ma tigresse_. That suits you.”

“There’s lot of animal pet names,” she observed.

“Animals and food. Don’t ask me why.”

Taina flopped a shoulder for a shrug and swiped an index finger at a glob of chocolate spread oozing over the edge of the crêpe like molten lava. “I like _ma tigresse._ ”

“ _Très bien_.”

One hand trickled through the blades of grass. Soft yet scratchy, clawing at her palm. Brilliantly green even in the twilight. Its natural scent wafted into her nose. She could imagine herself reclining on that grass. Laying in it, rolling in it with Gustave by her side the whole time. A swell of emotions blurred her eyes, turning the mammoth Eiffel Tower into a little candle in the night. Some flame easily able to be snuffed out.

“Gustave?” she cooed softly.

“Mhm?”

“What can I call you?”

She heard him chuckle, hands never slowing as they tucked stray hairs back behind her ear. “You can call me anything, Taina.”

What animal did he remind her of? Perhaps it would come to her upon seeing him, so she moved. Her torso rotated two or three degrees—a minuscule adjustment, but enough for the tail of her braid to pull, chestnut hairs tugged taut, prodding at her scalp. Wincing, she returned to her original position.

“I’m almost finished,” Gustave said.

A mental image would have to suffice—she’d had every aspect of his body memorized by now anyways.

Perhaps a bear? _Too gruff_ , she reasoned. 

_A fox_ , she thought. _A silver fox._ Quite literally. It was practically perfect. Fated—a grin almost surfaced. But she pursed her lips instead. Foxes were so small. Gorgeous and intelligent but… so small. And sneaky. And Gustave Kateb was neither sneaky, nor small. He was strong and mighty and devoted.

“Is there a pet name for wolf?” she asked.

Gustave chuckled, trailing his hands down her back. “ _Mon loup_ is quite common.”

“ _Mon loup_ ,” Taina repeated. Testing the phrase on her lips, on her tongue. 

“Finished.”

A soft click hit her ears. Gustave held his phone out to her, and she hesitantly took the device from him. He sidled up to her. Their legs and shoulders bumping against each other. Appraising her for a reaction, he skirted the back of his index finger up and down her arm. Delicate kisses of the skin. Glowing on the screen, a picture of her own hair. Dark braided strands. Dotted between the woven, thick locks: half a dozen bubble gum pink blossoms. Like they bloomed out of her being. Exquisite and full of life; touched by love.

Taina rotated towards Gustave, ready to fling herself at him, desperate to claim his mouth. To taste him. To have him.

And just then people began ‘ooh’ing and ‘ahh’ing and cheering.

She rubbernecked at the Eiffel Tower. The landmark had been plunged into velvet darkness. And then out of nowhere—a million sparkles ignited throughout its structure. Consuming the tower whole. Like firecrackers; a light show mimicking the pins and needles rippling through her flesh. 

“Does this happen every night?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Gustave replied. “On the hour until about 1 A.M..”

She forced her gaping jaw to close and her glazed over eyes to blink. Mind focusing, she imbibed in the reality of the moment they were sharing. “What are we doing in an hour?”

* * *

Gustave held the door open for Taina to slowly trudge through, neither of them even bothering with the light. With half-lidded eyes, she plodded all the way to the bedroom. A trail of items marked her path taken: brown leather mini backpack, both white sneakers, her socks—until she made it to the edge of the bed. Then she collapsed. Bellyflopping onto the mattress. Her body, bouncing over the springs with the sheer force of her fall, and then just like that, she settled into place. Her face lay buried in a wall of throw pillows. Body, sinking in the plush bedding.

Everything hurt. 

Her feet. Her thighs. Calves. Her back somehow. 

Yet, flopping over, hypnotized by the ceiling, she loved it. With a smile gracing her lips, she sighed. Then she stretched—limbs flinging in every direction. Popping and curling like tendrils. Back, curving like a cat.

Exhaling, the tension leaked from her body, and she sighed again. “I love this city.”

Gustave chuckled from somewhere nearby. “I’m glad.”

Taina propped herself up with both arms—still half reclining, but sitting up enough to see him. City lights polluted the room’s darkness; the glow pooled in through wide open blinds granting a view worthy of a postcard or a calendar. She found him near the foot of the bed. Having removed his shoes, he stood back up, fiddling with the watch around his wrist until it clicked free. Taina studied him. Removing the article from his wrist. Gingerly placing it on the small vanity desk near the bedroom’s entryway. She became completely mesmerized by his very being, his entire existence. 

Baffled—at how she managed to get so lucky. 

But terrified as well. Too scared to question that concept further out of fear the illusion might at last dissipate before her eyes.

“I love you more,” she stated. 

Gustave whirled around, eyes bound to her. The both of them gaping at each other. Despite being a known truth—a tangible, inescapable truth—its admittance always sent a dose of adrenaline coursing through her veins. In the silence of the night, only the throbbing of her heart deluged her ears. 

And her breaths, driven desperate by an irresistible craving. 

And thumping of Gustave’s footsteps as he strolled over and climbed onto the bed. 

Fervent motions got her into her knees. Just in time for Gustave to crawl over. For the mattress to sink under their weight and for his hands to cup her face and his mouth to collide with hers.

Lost in the taste of him—him and a faint aftertaste of chocolatey hazelnut—she kissed him back. Hard, fiery kisses. Brisk, airy ones light as a feather. Deep and slow kisses; oblivion-inducing and rapturous. 

Her hungry fingers flicked at the buttons of his shirt. Starting at the V below the collar. Gustave joined. Methodically, rhythmically, unhooking button after button from the bottom up. Finished, he worked on slipping out of the shirt while her attention moved onto his belt. Unhooking the brown buckle. Tearing the strip of leather out from the loops of his slacks. One piece of clothing after another until he had nothing remaining except bare, tempting skin. His hands found the hem of her dress, sneaking up under the fabric and along her thighs until reaching their destination. Lips never parting, he tugged down her underwear. 

The moment she crawled out of them, Gustave sank into a sit. He grabbed hold of her hips and pulled Taina down onto his lap. One hand hiked up her dress’ pooling fabric in time for her to move against him and for him to move in her.

Gustave, cheek skimming against hers, moaned into her ear, a moan that dwindled into a breathy sigh. Eyes falling shut, Taina winced in desire. Euphoria. Her head dropped, his sinewy shoulder cushioning her heated face. Her hips rolled against his. Nails delving into his back, leaving small crescent-shaped indentations in the skin, and she whimpered.

Hands cupping either side of her face, he leaned back and forced her head back up and into his view—into an ideal position for him to press his lips back to hers. 

“Thoughts on tomorrow?” Gustave asked between kisses.

“It can wait.”

“I mean for plans.”

“Oh,” she muttered.

Mouth already open, she ducked in for another kiss. Either their seventh or their hundredth—impossible to tell, too many to really count. Their lips, on the verge of touching, and then—

“The Tuileries maybe,” Gustave blurted with a thrilled cadence, as if thinking out loud.

Taina sighed. Shifting for an alternative, her lips tracked along the line of his jaw, down the side of his neck, the freshly shaved hairs there barely even nipping at her tongue. She took only micro-breaks between lavishing his skin with sweet kisses to respond. “Mm… Tuileries.”

“There’s a Ferris wheel.”

“More rides?”

He chuckled and snaking his arms around her even tighter as if he may never let her go. “If you like.”

“ _I like_.”

“Or Les Invalides perhaps.”

Her fingertips flirted with the bare skin of his chest while paying zero attention to the things he was saying. Just warmth—muscle, hair, and scars. She kissed the spot behind his ear. “ _Mhm_.”

“It’s not in Paris, but you must see Versailles.”

Taina straightened back up, and she rifled an impatient glare at Gustave—a glare wordlessly yelling: _please for the love of God, save it for tomorrow_. A glare met with a grin. Gustave rocked her, making her gasp, and then lunged forward and stole a kiss. Her fingers clenched through his satiny soft salt and pepper hair. Sparks of pleasure igniting all throughout her lust-ridden body. Quivering. Anticipating. 

“ _Je t’aime, ma tigresse_ ,” he whispered.

She returned the favour, nibbling on his lower lip as she kissed him back. Teeth, softly pinching and pulling before releasing him. She placed another soft peck there instead. The touch, the faintest pressure of her sucking on his lip, replaced any trace of fervour with an overwhelming sweetness and love. And there in the city of lights, she allowed herself to succumb to it absolutely. “ _Je t’aime aussi. Mon loup._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think of this style with the different snippets? What would y’all say to a Paris Pt. II? Maybe both of their POVs? I'm kind of considering it even though this one was a bit overwritten. Paris just has so many cute things to offer. Let me know!


	3. Happy Valentine’s Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So a while ago I wrote a chapter for Valentine’s Day and then left it to sit. And then suddenly it’s the 14th... oops! So, this definitely could have been worked on more but oh well. The day is more than half over, so I figured I should just get it posted. Enjoy!

The sun had long-since set leaving a silky navy darkness outside, visible through the half-open blinds hanging over her window. Another calm Grecian night. Within the room though, a single lamp throwing yellow light fought off that darkness. Taina flopped back. Shoulders and head thumping against the row of stiff pillows lining the bed. She lay half tucked in: sheets and comforter draped over her hips, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. Book held up in the air, she flipped to the next page, not even sure she had read to the bottom. Her eyes skimmed the block of text. All French. Riddled with accents—acute, grave, circumflex. On the brink of giving her a headache or sentencing her to sleep. Something suddenly hummed in the quiet. Short and untraceable. Taina lowered the paperback onto her stomach, face down so as to not lose her page. Both hands free, she felt around for her ringing phone. Around her head. Under the pillows. At her side.

Her fingertips grazed the trembling device near her left hip. 

“Hello?” she answered, lazily pressing the phone to her ear. 

“ _Allô_ , _ma cherie_ ,” Gustave replied wearing a smile she could hear over the phone but with a distinctive weight and sagging tone she was beginning to recognize. 

“Uh-oh.”

A sigh pierced her ear next. “It’s going to be a late night, unfortunately. The team just got back from Tel-Aviv. Nothing major, but enough to keep me busy for a while still.”

Taina stretched, her free arm flinging up, knuckles bumping the headboard. “I won’t wait up then.”

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise,” he said. “I don’t know that we’d be able to sneak out, but how about we order in dinner? Your pick. We can hide away in med bay if you really want.”

It sounded ridiculous when he said it. 

And in fairness—it kind of was ridiculous. She liked medical bay in Elis. Fully furnished with nice architecture. A thousand times comfier than Hereford’s. She still loathed being there for medical reasons. But for every other reason, she loved it. A space not frequented by most, and therefore safe. Locked doors. Tucked away in its own wing. Thinking about it teased the beginnings of a smile.

“Okay.”

“Not the grandest Valentine’s Day plans, but I think we can make a night out of it.”

An icy stream rushed through her veins.   
Eyes bulging wide like a deer in the headlights, she flung up into a sit.

Book—toppling over her abdomen and off the bed. The cover slapped against the hardwood with a _thump._ Sealed shut. Page lost.

_Valentine’s Day?_

“Right, yes. Okay.” She forced the words out without an ounce of grace. “Can’t wait.”

“ _Très bien_.” Gustave paused before speaking again. Voice dipping into the pools of sincerity—gentle and low and warm—he said, “Goodnight, _ma douce. Je t’aime._ ”

“ _Eu também te amo_ ,” Taina replied, scrambling out of bed. Not even paying attention to the language she responded in. Then in sunk in like the frown on her face. “Or— ugh. I mean—”

Gustave chuckled softly. “No, no. That’s perfect.”

She shook her head at herself. Embarrassment and shame mauling her all at once. Taina rushed around manically—rummaging through her desk. Batting items aside. Knocking over trinkets and making a huge ruckus. Finding a notebook, she hurled it onto the mattress.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she told him. 

“I’ll try not to.”

“Okay. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight.”

The jammed her thumb against the cell phone screen to terminate the call. Just as quick, she scrolled through her contacts and tapped at another name. A slight delay and then— _ring. Ring.  
_ Taina slapped her hand over her flushing face. _God fucking damn it._

“Hello?”

“Emma!” she groaned. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day?”

The Frenchwoman let out a small laugh. “ _Oui._ The 14th.”

“Of February?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Emmanuelle repeated. There was a lengthy pause, and then something dawned on her. “Ah, did you forget?”

“ _Merda_.” Taina swiped up a black pen. Mission accomplished. She strolled back to her bed. The disorder—abandoned, unresolved. It was another day’s problem, for she had a much bigger one to overcome. She leapt over the forsaken book on the floor, climbing back onto the bed, slipping under the covers. “I didn’t know! Kind of. I forgot it’s not in June like with Lovers’ Day in Brazil.”

“June? Really?” Emma asked. “Interesting.”

“Great. We both learned something tonight,” Taina grumbled. “ _Help me!_ ”

“Help you what?”

“What do I do? I don’t know anything about Valentine’s Day. I’m completely inept at this stuff.”

Emma laughed again. “Hold on.”

It was only at those words that Taina caught the noise in the background. Voices—lots of them. Chatter and laughter. Occasional metallic rattles and bangs. The kitchen? R&D lab? Before Taina could pick apart the noises any further, they receded. Emma relocated to somewhere. Where? Taina still didn’t know. A door clicked shut in the sudden quiet and then Emmanuelle’s sigh echoed.

“Okay. Shoot,” she said. 

“What do I do? How do I— you know?”

“Gustave is a simple man, and you two have been together for almost a year. I’m pretty sure anything would make him happy. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel. Stick to the basics—chocolates, roses.”

Taina nodded. She yanked the notepad up into her lap. A quick flick, and the book opened up. Blank pages stared her in the face. She scribbled quickly. 

_Chocolates._

_Roses._

“You’re supposed to get twelve right?” Taina asked. 

“I really don’t think it matters, Tai. Twelve, twenty-four, half a dozen, one. The number isn’t important. What matters is that you got it for him. There’s no need to stress over this. Just go with your gut.” Emma yanked the phone away just as she release a yawn—the sound, distant and reverberating through whatever room Emmanuelle had taken refuge in. A satisfied sigh then followed. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow you can go to the shops. I’m sure you’ll have many options to pick from.”

Taina wrote a series of viable numbers next to the word _roses_. Finished, she whacked the butt-end of the pen against the inner corner of her right brow. 

One—simple and sweet… _perhaps too simple._

A bouquet of one dozen roses—classic. _Is a dozen enough?_

A stunning two dozen maybe? _I don’t want to kill him with roses either though._

_It’s also probably impossible to sneak around base with that many roses._

“Cav?”

“Oh!” Taina flinched out of the daze engulfing her. Shivering, blinking her vision back into focus, she nodded and sprawled back out over the bed. “Yeah. Thank you, Em. I mean it.”

“No problem!”

Pulling the phone away, Taina ended the call and tossed her cell phone down on the bed. Flopping over onto her side, she bundled up the notebook and resumed writing. Plotting. Brainstorming. Forging back-up plans for back-up plans until the chemical-laden odour of ink burned her nostrils and the pen fell out of her lifeless hand and her eyes sealed shut, locking her in anxiety-ridden dreams.

* * *

Gustave rushed down the corridor lined with a wall of glass providing a crystal clear view into the newly completed stadium. Through those windows flooded beams of early morning light. _Though not early enough apparently..._ He stretched his left arm out until the elastic wristband of his uniform pulled away and revealed his silver watch.  
Late.

_Putain._

He rounded the last corner and saw Dokkaebi waiting by the door to medical bay. Her right arm—tucked and secured into a black broad arm sling. A groan rippled at the back of his throat. He hated being tardy. Almost as much as he hated being disorganized.

And today, of all days, he was both. 

He jogged over, fishing out the key ring from his pocket. Each of the silver and bronze keys jingled together with every step taken. Standing right in front of the the Korean woman, he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, Grace. I’ve been a bit of a mess this morning.”

In reality the disorder had started the night before. But that was a given whenever Rainbow operations concluded. There were always physical consequences of engaging in war with the White Masks. While none of those wounds were grievous—thankfully—cumulatively, they were still time consuming. Which disrupted his entire evening of prepping and planning, and he knew this day would end up equally busy— _doubly so when you’re late._

The major pieces were in place and everything had arrived in good condition but still—it wasn’t going to be the Valentine’s Day he had hoped for. Their first, no less. Spoiling: so very deep in his nature, and grand gestures of love that turned her red with embarrassment had pretty much become his new hobby. Yet an over-the-top day of grandeur likely wasn’t in their future. Something he figured Taina would probably be grateful for anyways.

_Next year,_ he told himself. 

_She probably hates Valentine’s Day anyways._

“How has that arm been feeling?” he asked her as he jammed the key into the door and gave it a twist. 

“Doesn’t even hurt.”

After taking the key back, he wrenched at the door knob and shoved the grey-blue door open. Blindly reaching inside, weary fingers flicked the light on, and he propped the door open for her by using his entire body as leverage.

“I just want this thing gone,” she said. 

“Well as long as you’ve actually been resting it like I advised you to, it should be gone after today.”

Grace pursed her lips and quickly marched into medical bay. “Do you know how hard it is to code with one hand?”

He didn’t know for a fact, but he could presume. Doing most things with one hand when you’re used to full faculties was never easy or enjoyable. Gustave closed the door behind him with a click, and he watched Dokkaebi wander around, making herself comfortable and strolling over to his desk. And as he watched, he noted her hair—black with vibrant streaks of white, hanging down past her shoulders. Loose. Another daily process hindered by her current injury.

“You say that as if I enjoy having to incapacitate my coworkers—”

“ _Oh, my God!_ ”

His pulse immediately quickened. Eyes shooting wide open, Gustave rushed over to where Dokkaebi stood with her back to the door to find out what was the matter—

And then he froze in place.

Occupying in the dead centre of his desk, a distinctive black box trimmed with gold. Long, narrow, and not too tall. A crimson satin ribbon curled around the box, tied off with a perfectly symmetrical bow. One plain white card lay tucked under the bow. An electric thrill—almost painful—balled in his gut while fiery sparks flooded his mind.

“Huh,” he managed to breathe out.

“ _Open it!_ ”

Gustave pivoted to shoot Grace a quizzical look, one eyebrow flicking up. “What?”

Dokkaebi began bouncing on her heels. Giddy. Arm, still in its swing, flapping against her bare waist exposed by a navy crop top. “Open it! I want to see what’s in it.”

Gustave’s dark eyes fluttered back to stare at the pristine black box.

“Probably nothing,” he said. Or, at least, he _thought_ he said—nothing was really audible over his own pulse hammering away in his ears like a series of rogue firecrackers. 

“Nothing, you say?”

Grace helped herself and snatched the card out from its place between the box and the ribbon. She held the card up to her face. Thin eyebrows knotted together before she shoved the card into his face instead.

“What does this mean?”

Unconscious reflex overwhelmed him; his eyes flashed over the card and its handwritten words even though he didn’t need to look, nor did he need to read.

_Je t’aime._

“It—”

“Does it mean I love you?”

“Grace, please.”

“Is there something you haven’t told us, Doc?”

Gustave, head down, tore a pair of medical gloves out of the open box on his desk. He kicked at his wheeled stool next, dislodging it out from under the table top.  
“ _Non_. I’m sure it was just someone being nice.”

“You have a secret admirer then.” Grace sat in the patient’s chair. With only one hand available, she raised her leg and tried to sit lotus style until her wrapped elbow bashed against the chair’s metal arm. She winced and immediately abandoned the process. Her fingertips flicked at the bangs hanging over her eye instead. “I don’t recognize the handwriting. Who has that writing _and_ speaks French? Twitch? _Frost!_ Oh! Maybe it’s a peace offering from Olivier.”

Gustave retrieved his lab coat from a small steel coatrack in the corner of the room. Even from there though, he heard Grace chuckle at her own comment.

“A Valentine’s Day peace offering...”

Whirling around, he coughed to clear his throat. “Shall we check your arm now?”

Grace smirked suddenly—mischievous and distrustful. “I can find out for you, you know? A couple clicks—cell phones tell all.”

“ _Dokkaebi_.” Gustave snatched the pair of gloves back up off the desk and plummeted into his seat. He tried to ignore the heat pooling under his flesh. Embarrassment colliding with annoyance, all ultimately trumped by excitement. Adoration; love. “Leave it alone, please. It’s— it’s nothing.”

“Open it.”

Gustave just gaped at Dokkaebi, stunned. 

“Or are you going to make me open it?” she asked. She looked over at Gustave and then blinked twice at him through her oversized glasses. When he offered no response, Grace leaned forward. Reaching out her good arm and pinching the end of the satin ribbon between her index finger and her thumb. Giving him a purposefully pointed look, she began tugging.

“ _Grace!_ ” he snapped, lunging forward and nudging the long box and its bow out of her grip. A sigh bled out between his lips next. “If I open it, will you stop with this?”

“Yes. _Open_.”

Gustave rolled his eyes, but he focused solely on his desk anyways. Shuffling a little closer, observing the way the lights in medical day glinted off corners of the box’s gold trim. He gently pulled at the ribbon. The silky bow unravelled at the slightest pressure and then fell away onto the wooden desk. He plucked at the lid next, gingerly lifting it up off the bottom and revealing its contents. 

One singular long-stemmed rose.

Accented by greenery—deep green leaves and emerald tendrils—and swathed in dainty, pure white baby’s breaths. De-thorned, leaving only beauty behind. Its ruby petals—just starting to bloom. 

That racing heart within his chest stuttered. Unable to keep up with neither the cascade of passion stealing his breath away nor the vortex of thoughts deluging his mind: _How did she get this? When did she get this? How did she get it in here?_ The mere image of one Taina Pereira sneaking around base with a secret gift like that? Typically it would just make him chuckle. _But this..._

“Wow,” Dokkaebi said, slouching back in her chair. “Someone _really_ likes you.”

“And you really believe that someone resides on base?” Gustave responded with a forced laugh to goad her into believing otherwise.

When he caught her shrugging out of the corner of his eye, he diverted all focus back to the item before him. Such a precious token, a true symbol of love. The most romantic gift imaginable. A brilliant smile ignited on his lips, unbridled and fervent, as he raised the blossoming flower out of its cradle. One slight tilt of the wrist, and he held the rose to his nose. Breathing in its scent—earthy and distinctive, mercifully masking the room’s subtle stench of hydrogen peroxide. The soft, velvety petals caressed his lips like a kiss across time and space. Hers. Gustave let his eyes fall shut so all that remained was his sense of touch experiencing the delicate flower, his rampant imagination, and the thousand of emotions drowning him in rapture.

* * *

Taina’s stomach growled and moaned, demanding to be fed; her gut had been going rabid ever since she returned to base with a haul of fresh Greek food. Meandering down the hallway, one hand steadied the gym bag hanging from her shoulder and pinned it against her hip to keep it from moving too much. _The other gym bag_ —or so she had dubbed it. Old, it hadn’t held actual gym clothing or equipment in months. This gym bag was used for secrets. Clothes, food, Valentine’s Day gifts. Whatever required smuggling that day, usually to med bay or to Gustave himself. She took one final step and entered into medical bay’s light streaming into the hallway through the wide open door.

Gustave worked away at his desk. While his hand clutched a pen and hovered over some document, his eyes were on the item to his left. 

The rose she had picked out earlier protruded proudly into the air like a beacon. A tall silver cylinder supported the rugged green stem. Small buds of baby’s breath shrouded the rose like some kind of cloud or veil. 

“So the rumour _is_ true,” Taina declared. 

Gustave’s entire body flinched at the sudden sound of her voice.

He dropped his pen, and instead of trying to recover it, he merely abandoned everything else with it. When he turned to look at her, a smile lined his lips. He hauled himself out of the stool nestled up to the desk. Still donning his uniform—but then, so was she. While hers was more or less unscathed, white powder spattered his. His shoulder. His hip. Thighs. Remnants of simunition. Gustave peeled both gloves off his hands, tossing them onto whatever document he had been marking up. Before walking over, he spared a moment to glance at the red rose one final time.

“What rumour?”

Taina advanced another step into the room—enough space for her to shut the door behind her and finish with the button lock. 

A coy grin flashed over her face. “That you have a secret admirer.”

“Not so secret,” he said, strolling over to meet her. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Her shoulder flopped up once in an indifferent shrug. But even that couldn’t keep a smile banished for long; the corner of her lips tugged up just as Gustave reached out a hand to cup her jaw. His thumb, tenderly scrubbing over her cheek, turning her red. As if his very touch painted her skin in blush. His other hand wafted up to capture her face. 

“ _Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, mon amour._ ”

He leaned in and captured her lips with his. Impossibly gentle yet passionate all the same. It didn’t matter how much time had passed—at the pinnacle of lust or while observing one of the most hyper-commercialized holiday known to man—Taina was entirely certain his kiss would always and forever melt her into nothing but a puddle of flutters. Leaning into him, she returned the kiss with a dose of fire. Empty hand clutching his uniform and tugging him closer until their bodies were flush. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered again before sprinkling two more dainty kisses to her lips and pulling back. 

Her head bobbed with a nod while she sought out her own voice. She trailed her hand down his chest, physically experiencing the rhythm of his heart. Vigorous—fast. Beaming, her eyes flickered up to meet his.  
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

Gustave removed the gym bag from her shoulder and flung the strap over his instead. The movements allowed her to easily steal another glance around his sturdy frame. 

“You found a vase?”

“Well, I couldn’t find one that was small enough and tall enough.” He peered over his shoulder to look and then chuckled. “I got innovative and used a forceps jar.”

Taina released a guttural groan, expelling every molecule of air out of her lungs until she thought she might pass out. Dragging her feet, she plodded over to the black metal-framed futon that had become Gustave’s third bed following his actual bed and hers. 

“I knew I should have gone for the dozen,” she muttered before collapsing onto the cushions. The couch clanked, screws pulling on metal pulling on screws. Both feet kicked out, and both arms crossed over her chest. She studied Gustave movements. He never heard her utterance, crouching down. Sliding a brown paper boutique bag out from under the black shadows of his desk. He rose back into a stand and pivoted to face her. A wounded pout then tainted Taina’s face thoroughly cleaned of paint. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this. I panicked, _and_ I forgot Valentine’s Day is in February here and in France and pretty much everywhere _except_ Brazil.”

His dark, striking eyebrows knotted together.

“Taina, no.” His voice wilted. Genuine sadness afflicted him at her words, at her frown. Despite the heavy gym bag heaving on his shoulder and the gift bag in his other hand, he found enough balance to reach out his empty hand and cup her chin, forcing her hazel eyes to peer deep into his. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love it—I love _you._ ”

Gustave gingerly set her duffle bag down on the floor next to Taina before sitting down with her. He placed the brown bag between them.

Her gaze wandered back to his desk. To that rose the colour of blood. All alone with nothing, no other roses, to hide behind and yet standing tall and proud. Even she found something strikingly beautiful in that.

Something raw and honest. 

_Maybe it is perfect..._ A perfect symbol of her love. 

“If anything, I should be apologizing,” he said. “I was the one who didn’t buy you any flowers at all. I swear I intended to, but—”

“I don’t need flowers,” she said. 

“I know you don’t _need_ them. I wanted to give you some though.”

Taina shook her head. “They’re pretty, but they just die. Especially if I’m the person taking care of them.”

Gustave let out a small chuckle. “Well they’re not flowers, but...”

He slid the brown bag over to Taina. Not able to help herself, she tugged the item closer and hunched forward—just enough to steal the smallest glance inside. A pale sage green box with ornamented designs perched on top of a second plain white box. _Hm..._ Anxiety made her blood tingle. Polar opposites tearing her asunder, worry and happiness. She leaned down and fiddled with the gym bag next to her foot. Unzipping the lid, Taina removed the steamy plastic bag filled with spiced and seasoned food: stuffed grape leaves, moussaka, souvlaki, and spanakopita. She withdrew a medium sized white box instead. In one fluid movement, Taina shifted—feet up on the futon, legs crossed, rotating to face Gustave. She extended the box to him. 

“You first.”

Whatever he had gotten her, she was practically banking on being upstaged.

_That’s not what today is supposed to be about,_ she reminded herself. 

Maybe she just wanted her part over as soon as possible. Then they could focus on spending time together rather than her shoddy gift-giving on full display. 

Gustave shot her a smile before taking the box into his care and setting it on his lap. Taina watched, biting down on her lower lip the entire time. His fingers flicked up the cardboard lid, and he gaped at the contents inside.

“ _Mon dieu!_ Thank you, Taina.”

The scent of phyllo pastry and honey hit her just as fast as the scarlet rush of shame.

“Okay, hear me out,” she said, already diving into a justification for the Greek dessert box of squares and biscuits and pastries. “I was going to buy chocolate because that’s the classic thing to do, and they all come in those heart shaped boxes, but there’s not a lot here, and you’re Parisian so it’s not even going to compare, so I figured this might be better?”

Gustave—half-listening—reached a hand into the box. Index finger digging in the corner and bathing a small puddle of honey there until he pulled back. The viscous golden syrup dribbled down his fingertip. Only then did he nod—just as he captured the pad of his finger between his lips and sucked.

“I’m sorry.”

“ _Taina._ ” Her name blended with his strained laugh. “Please, there’s no need to apologize. This is very considerate.”

He lowered the box of sweets onto the floor next to their dinner. Sitting upright once more, Gustave tilted her way and quickly stole another kiss. The sweet taste of honey lingered on his lips and so filled her mouth, dancing over her tongue.

Between a second and third kiss, he said, “And you’re right. The chocolate here is incomparable.”

“Oh!” Both hands braced against his muscular chest, and Taina nudged him away so she could rifle through the duffle bag again. She popped back up with a balled up sweater cradled in her arms. Fabric layers fell away revealing a deep, deep green bottle with a shimmering gold label. “I did find champagne though.”

” _Parfait!_ ”

She handed him the bottle and then unzipped one of the side pouches. Swaddled in a stolen dish towel—two champagne flutes. Origin: unknown, but it was that, huge, bulbous red wine glasses, or coffee mugs. After he took those too to set aside, Gustave nudged his chin at the brown bag still nestled against her crossed legs. 

“Now you.”

Taina lifted both boxes out of the box, and while she rested them on her thighs, Gustave set aside the now empty bag.

Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, she asked, “Which one should I open first?”

“Whichever you like.”

The pale green box had a small white envelope taped to the top. A minuscule indication that it likely should be opened first. Taina peeled the card off. Though she held the card in the air, her gaze dropped down to the semi-familiar box. The name, surrounded by an oval of laurel leaves. Everything embossed in gold. 

_Ladurée_.

In beautiful script right below the bakery name— _Paris._

“Oh, come on! That’s cheating.”

An artificial scowl flickered across her face, but it didn’t last long, as she was already teasing the lid off. Raising the box to eye level, she peered in.

In four rows of three—a rainbow of macarons.

“Yeah, it kind of is cheating,” Gustave said, not even warring with his laugh and his grin. “My apologies.”

“You’re forgiven as long as there’s passion fruit.”

“Of course there’s passion fruit.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits at him as if to survey whether or not he was lying. A silent and motionless interrogation. Instead, her eyes merely roamed his entire being—black and silver hairs catching the light. The way the slightly lopsided smile reached his eyes. The soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. 

A shiver decimated her trance, spurring her into moving again.

Lowering the ornate box down next to her thigh on the cushions, all attention moved to the item still in hand.

“What is this?” she asked, seamlessly tearing open the envelope.

“Just a note.”

She slipped her fingers inside and withdrew a red card. Folded in half, its message still hidden from sight. Before daring to open it, she held it up with a vacant expression on her face. “Is this going to make me cry?”

_I_ really _don’t want to cry today_ , she thought.

“Hm...” Gustave marvelled at the ceiling tiles as he ruminated. “I doubt it.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

“I kept it short,” he offered alongside a grin, as if that would make it better.

Taina rolled her eyes. “Sure you did...”

“ _I did!_ I swear it.”

“How short?”

“Criminally,” he replied, rapping his fingertips against his knee as he waited for her—to believe him or to move on and find out for herself. Either way, impatience seemed to gnaw away at him. Intense gaze flinging between her face, the card in her hand, and the final box. 

She wasn’t used to him being antsy. Especially in the romantic department. 

And that made her all the more nervous. 

Cold hands flicked the card open, and Taina readied both her eye and her mind for what she would likely find. A series of French words. Given the theme of the day, they’d be recognizable or familiar enough for her to interpret. But instead of finding the same acutes, graves, and circumflexes that had been splintering her brain the night before, she found plain wording. Unequivocal—no translating required:

_’You bring light to my life and happiness to my days. I love you, Taina. Truly and deeply.  
Gustave.’_

_God damn it_ , she cursed to herself as the stinging began surfacing. Blinks didn’t help, so she closed the note. Concealing those words—like that would lessen the swell of feelings in her core.  
Like that would somehow render them less true. 

Taina coughed away the balling weight at the back of her throat and then willed herself to raise her head. 

And she did—eyes watering, lips _almost_ nottrembling. “Thank you,” she barely managed to whisper.

Gustave removed the fidgeting hand from his knee. Reaching over, he rested that hand on hers instead, giving her knee one comforting squeeze. His rich brown eyes locked with hers. A sheepish smile caught up in something of a frown coloured his face forever stuck in her head like a song. 

She wanted to kiss that face, to dust her lips over his cheek.

She wanted to feel that face buried in her hair or nuzzled in the crook of her neck.

She wanted _him_. 

And she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully get used to the fact that she had him—that she even could. That he was hers as she was his. 

Gustave reset the smile on his lips but his eyebrows remained furrowed in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

She knew he only half-meant it—if that. _Sorry for what?_ Making her cry, she supposed. Maybe. 

But certainly not for loving her. 

Nor for speaking the truth. 

Taina screwed the heel of her palm into her right eye to smother residual tears the way one tramples out a small fire by force. “Oh, so _you’re_ allowed to apologize?”

A bubbling chuckle slipped past his lips. Gustave quickly took his hand back and scooped up the last butterfly-inducing gift instead. He offered it to her once more.

“Here, open this.”

One deep breath in, and she obliged, taking the box.

“If it helps,” he said, “this one is a complete tonal shift.” 

“ _Graças a Deus..._ ”

His upper body slanted against the back of the couch, sinking into the padded cushions. The black fabric—jarring against the navy blue of his uniform. Relaxed, head propped against the back of his hand, he laughed again. “It may be the most non-conventional Valentine’s Day gift, but I hope you’ll like it.”

Her nails picked at the heart of the bow, loosening the ribbon until she could give the knot a tug and watch it unravel. Taina left it draped over her lap. The cardboard—thick and sturdy. Weighty when she lifted the lid off.

Holding her breath, she peeked inside.

Shock drilled into her. A thousand little shocks up under the skin. Her eyes, bulging.

“You got me a knife?” she asked, stunned, already reaching in to cradle it in her hand.

A strange knife—unlike any she had ever held before. Aged, the steel remained tainted with darkness despite an apparent polish. The hilt bore no cushioning or coating. Nothing to aid in maintaining a sound grip. Just metal curved and bent to form a handle. Crude. The blade on the other hand was flat, sharp, and stiletto-like. 

“Yes— kind of,” Gustave trailed off. He shuffled a little closer to look down at the weapon in her palms as well. “I didn’t buy it. It’s called a French Nail. They were makeshift trench knives from World War One fashioned out of bayonets and other similar weapons.”

Taina tilted the knife in her hands to examine it at every angle, observing all. The light, bouncing off the tapered end’s polished metal. The level design. The porosity of the unaltered handle. Next her fingers dance down the side of the blade to find it surprisingly smooth. Despite its rudimentary design, its blade had been carefully forged. Every detail was subject to her scrutiny, and Gustave watched on with a gleaming, satisfied smile on his lips and the faintest touch of pink in his cheeks. 

“It was my grandfather’s.”

Taina’s head snapped up at those words. Jaw dropping, a rush decimating her. 

“ _Gustave_... you can’t give me this.”

“Why not?” He sat up. Spine straightening, hands clasped in his lap fighting to crush the other unto death. Voice hitching sky high in tone—dread—he asked, “You don’t like it?”

“ _No!_ No, that’s not why. It’s a family heirloom. From World War One no less. I can’t have this.” 

Gustave let out a tiny sigh of relief and then accented his shrug with a tiny smile. “My father passed it to me years ago. Amongst a plethora of other relics and memorabilia. I have no use for a knife, and I figured you’d have a much greater appreciation for it than I ever could.”

Taina’s eyes roamed over his face for a brief moment before sinking to the knife still resting in her hands. Her fingers slipped through the handle as if to wield it. 

The knife was heavy. Weighty—in both its feel as well as in its meaning. A significant history moulding—casting—a significant present: a notion which never for a moment breezed by her. It quickened her heart and ignited her blood and left her trembling. 

“I want you to have it, Taina.”

His low, gravelly voice, sharpened with sincerity, echoed in her over and over again until she raised her head once more. One sight of him, and then everything was silenced. Her voice became withered by ardour into a mere whisper.

“Thank you, Gustave.”

Gustave nodded, brushing the growing tufts of hair back from his forehead. “You like it then?”

Taina practically scoffed at the question. She gingerly lowered the knife back into its box and nudged it aside, smirking. While hauling herself onto her knees, she said, “It’s perfect. As are you.”

Her hands hooked around his broad shoulders—support as she crawled over. Those trembling hands then captured his clean-shaven face, and her welling eyes held his captive. Or maybe it was the other way around.

Either way, they shared the same perfect fate. 

“I love you,” Taina whispered. 

Palpable heat radiated off him—his rosy cheeks soft against her lips when she leaned in to press a kiss there, his thigh bumping against her knees, his hands, roaming her body. All of her body: hips, waist, the small of her back until his arms enfolded her in a loving embrace. Cradling her form against him.

“I love you too, _ma moitié,_ ” he whispered back.

Both his breaths and his fingers getting lost in her hair. Pressing his lips against the side of her head, he burrowed in closer, sating every want she’d had. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”


	4. The Pest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! The inspiration for this one comes courtesy of my friend who literally gives zero shits about R6 but has aided me in many major and minor ways in writing all the things I have so far. This is also another one of those not-as-edited-as-it-could-be ones (not me never posting for a month and somehow still uploading an under-polished chapter). But it's something, and hopefully it brings some chuckles to your day!

Scorching red sunlight of a late afternoon cut into medical bay through the crooked aluminum blinds, the colour of embers. Its source—a spring sky on the precipice of sunset. Beautiful. But Gustave paid no attention to it. His white-gloved hands tried and failed to hold the last vacutainer filled with Finka’s blood completely steady. As such, he pressed the sticker label against the tube, leaving it horribly slanted in place. His thumb scrubbed over the tag in an attempt to salvage the matter, but it bubbled, uneven and barely legible. Then his half-lidded eyes surrendered. Closing completely, plunging him briefly into darkness. And there, he found it hard to leave. _Stay awake._ He forced his eyes to open a crack. Just enough to see the shape of the vial rack and slip the vial of blood into an empty slot. His sleeping fingers, riddled with pins and needles, gripped his blue pen. Then the black enveloped him again.

Half asleep, he scribbled over the specimen submission form. Filling out the name and contact information for the results to be sent to. His hand jerked. Pen, steered to the bottom of the form. Gustave penned his name by muscle memory alone, and even then the cursive letters bled together into a mess of hooping ink. 

_Just a short nap and then back to work_ , Gustave reasoned, his subconscious doing most of the thinking.

His shoulders slumped; he felt the muscles in his neck slowly going lax. Back to back days of intakes for both Warden and Nøkk had leeched every grain of energy until, despite his partially opened eyes, he couldn’t see straight anymore. His body slouched forward for an inevitable crash landing upon his desk.

_Thud!_

Gustave jolted. 

Shock sent chills rattling through his skin. Every muscle seized. From his back muscles to his fingers—body shooting upright, the pen flinging out of his hold and scattering across the abandoned papers blanketing the desk. 

He craned his neck to the source of the sleep-shattering sound.

Taina stood frozen at the now-closer door of med bay. One hand still on the doorknob. The other held a stainless steel travel mug. Her hazel eyes as wide as saucers stared at him—a look that dusted away any remnants of sleepiness fogging his mind.

“Yikes,” she mumbled before flicking the latch to lock the door behind her.

Gustave merely grunted in response. One gloved hand scrubbed down his face as if he could physically wipe away the exhaustion. Instead when he checked his hand, all he saw was smeared blue ink over white latex. Blue ink now smeared over his forehead. An annoyed exhale slithered out between his parched lips.

“How are you doing?” she asked, making her way over. 

“I’m tired.” 

With her standing right at his side, he willed himself to stare up into the scorching lights. Painful, enough to forge a lancing headache—and yet, a worthy price to pay. 

He memorized her. That face, still faintly stained with black and white paint like it had become embedded in the skin. Along her jaw, along the bridge of her nose, and the inner corners of both eyes. Most of her BOPE uniform hadn’t left her either. Clad in grey. Only her weapons and vest had been removed. Cryptic yet paradoxically soft eyes stared deep into him. Her rosy lips wore a tiny smile that likely hadn’t seen much use throughout the day. Getting that kind of unconscious smile out of her was like having a VIP pass—something reserved for the very, very few in Rainbow.

Taina prodded a chilly finger at his cheek bone and tugged on the skin, yanking down his lower left eyelid to indicate the dark circles there. “ _Obviously_.”

Gustave groaned and then jerked his head away from her hand still partially covered by her tactical gloves. 

She pursed her lips. To occupy the quiet void, she stuck her hand out, holding the travel mug directly in front of him. From there he could see a tiny stream of steam. It danced skyward. Like a ghost, evaporating into nothing before his eyes. 

“Coffee?” she asked as an offering. 

“Oh.” His eyebrows fluttered up—surprise. And flattery. And something else that made his heart sing. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t.”

Taina frowned at her own words, and when her eyes locked with his, she shook the travel mug at him. Begging him to take it so that she could do anything else except stand there with a pink hue blooming in her cheeks. 

Gustave took the cup from her. Faint heat radiate into his hands. Warm and comfortable. Almost enough to make him want to sleep more, to curl up in blankets or a tender embrace and surrender to the dark. Gustave snapped open the lid and took a quick swig of boiling, milky coffee to assuage such a craving.

“It’s a dark roast from Brazil, so hopefully that will wake you up.”

“God, I hope so,” he muttered. There was far too much paper work to do for him to waste time of drowsiness. 

His eyes fluttered for a moment. Despite the numbing pain over his burned tongue. Despite the taste of coffee lingering in his mouth and the aforementioned work he still had to complete. It was almost impossible to resist. Weights pulled down under his eyelids until they accidentally closed again. 

Taina’s hand cupped his chin. Fingers grazing along his taut jawline. And she squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but pressure enough for his eyes to shoot open. Blanched colours muddled his blurred vision. He blinked—once, then twice—forcing his eyes to focus, and the sight of his surroundings sharpened just in time to witness her climb over his body, leg flinging over his lap. Sidling up close, she straddled him. 

“I could always wake you up too,” she whispered. Leaning in, her lips scrubbed against his—barely. Like a phantom, mistakable as a hallucination. 

Nothing else was though. 

Not her weight on top of his. Nor her hands, roaming down his chest and raking through the roots of his hair. Not her breaths, which skated, gentle and cool, down the side of his neck. Even under the long sleeves of his coveralls, the hairs on his arms stuck up; goosebumps washed through him originating from his core and blazing along his flesh. Her hand clenched in his hair—yanking at the strands and unleashing a pleasant ache down the back of his head and down to his spine. Taina rolled her hips, slow and seductive, as she ducked in even closer and kissed the skin of his throat just as slowly. Taking her time. Letting her tongue dance over his pulse.

Gustave’s eyes slipped shut. His vision extinguishing like a candle in the breeze. 

“Wake up,” she whispered along his neck.

He chuckled. A glowing smile toyed with his lips. Wide awake. His hands skirted up her thighs and settled on the curve of her hips, and he was more than content to stay put just like that. 

The mountain of paperwork could wait.

“Are you awake enough?” Taina asked, pressing another kiss to his neck. This time right under the corner of his jaw. Her fingertips trailed up his abdomen and chest, over his heart, before settling—fiddling—with the zipper tag of his uniform. Barely even pinching it between her fingers, she pulled. The zipper hissed in response. Her voice shrunk down to a whisper—coy and enticing. “I could always hide under the desk. No one would know.”

“You’re a tease,” he uttered.

Taina shot upright, eyebrows furrowing, and gaped, indignant, at him. “Am not!” Her arms snaked around his neck. The BOPE patch’s furious skull sewn into her left sleeve sneered at him. White and black threads weaving together to create such a harsh image. When he glanced up though, he was met with an airy smile meddling with a pout instead. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know.”

“Are you awake?”

“Very,” he said, grinning up at her. “ _Merci_.”

“Good. Consider it motivation then.”

“To what?”

“To finish your work.”

Gustave half-scoffed and half-laughed. Head tilting to the side, he asked, “How am I supposed to work now that you’ve got me all hot and bothered?”

Such a question ignited a dangerous smirk on her lips. One that made his blood rush and his body quiver. Gasoline on fire. Taina clenched a fistful of his uniform’s collar between her fingers and yanked him closer until they were unbearably close. Until he could feel the breaths fluttering through her parted lips dancing over his face. Until he could almost taste her. 

“Post-haste?”

With those breathy words, she crashed her mouth onto his, taking him over in one swift movement. Corroding all other sensations until—just her. His hand grazed up her arced back, following the line of her spine, until resting at the nape of her neck. His fingertips flirting with the roots of her braid but robbed of the sensation. Unable to feel the smooth strands against his skin.

He focused on her lips instead. Fiery and insistent against his. Her tongue, her taste. Intoxicating. 

A sigh escaped his mouth just to flee into hers. 

Taina slowly broke away—enough for both of them to open their eyes and not get blinded by a blur. Enough for her to grin down at him. “I should go,” she said, hands settling on his shoulders. “Let you work.”

Her dangling feet found the floor to start into a stand. The silent soles of her combat boots pressing against the linoleum, hands bracing against his shoulders, and then every physical trace of her disappeared. Her weight, her body heat—gone. Replacing it, a cold, lifeless void.

Gustave hated it. 

“ _Non_.”

His hands snatched her hips, white gloves stark against the charcoal grey of her trousers. He hauled her down back into his lap before she could even take a step. Bodies colliding. Back in her immediate presence, a smile flourished on his face.

“Stay with me,” he said, snaking his arms around her waist and interlocking his fingers behind her back so she may never escape. “For a few more minutes at least.”

Taina uttered no response.

Instead she shifted up closer, propping her chest against his. Arms hooping around his neck, she rested her head. Snuggling into him—and there, he gently rocked with her. Swaying side to side like a pendulum.

“How was your day?” he asked. 

She hmm’ed to herself as if she had to think about the question. “It was fine.” Gustave felt her burrow her face even deeper into the crook of his neck. “Apparently I’ll be working with Nøkk. Harry for some reason thinks she could learn something from me.”

“I think he’s right.”

Taina mumbled, “I don’t… work well with people.”

Gustave unplaced his hands and grabbed hold of the black leather seat under him in order to scoot the both of them forward, closer to his desk. Back within reach, he retrieved his pen and slid the specimen submission form off to the side so he could glance it over Taina’s shoulder. All the errors popped off the page. Drowsy paperwork—it never went well. 

“I’m certain you two will get along swimmingly.”

He began making the required amendments to the form. Checking off a neglected box. Dating the bottom of the page next to his haphazard signature. And as he wrote over his paperwork Taina seemed to write over his body. One single finger swooping and swirling along his back. A wash of tingles flooded through his soul. 

“Your day?” she asked. “Aside from tiresome.”

He chuckled. “Busy.”

A quiet and hushed squeak suddenly breached the brief silence. Barely audible. _Mice_ , he was almost certain. Not uncommon in Hereford between it being an old building and being in the middle of vast rolling fields.

He made a mental note to himself to by more mouse traps for medical bay.

Taina’s hand scrubbed over his back again—across his shoulder blade and down his spine—wiping away any sensation of her penmanship over his skin. The pleasure, the fire, instantly fading away. “Well,” she said, “is there anything I offer you aside from coffee and my body?”

Slanting his head against the side of hers, he chuckled. “What more could I want?”

“I don’t know. Food, perhaps?” Her voice dropped, flatlining in displeasure. “If you’re in the mood for blandness or food poisoning.”

“Your cooking is not that bad.”

“It’s pretty close.”

“Well I think the charred bits give the dish a nice texture,” he joked. 

Taina leaned back, sitting upright and leering down at him through narrow eyes. And then her glare crumbled—voice, deflating. “It’s supposed to be the thought that counts, right?”

Gustave flashed a soft smile at her. “Of course.”

Her head bobbed ever-so-slightly for a feeble nod. Then she turned away. Averting her eyes. Staring off into distance, the dreary and dark unoccupied corners of med bay. And as her face flushed, his heart sank. He reached a hand out, cupped her face, and forced her eyes to meet his. The pad of his thumb scrubbed over her cheek bone. Like his touch could erase it all. The crimson staining her skin, the evidence of whatever shame or embarrassment or annoyance had struck her. Instead, the opposite. His touch morphed that pinkish hue into a deep red. He peered into her eyes instead—darker in the shoddy lighting of med bay. Much more brown than green. But beautiful. And reflective, like purifying water. His own reflection staring back at him. 

“ _Je t’aime tellement,_ Taina,” he said, propping his forehead against hers. “ _Plus en plus chaque jour._ ”

The slightest tilt was all it took; Gustave softly pressed his lips against her. Delicate—as if he had kissed only mist or summer rain. 

“Do you understand me?” he then whispered against those lips. 

Not the most complicated French. He knew for certain she more than familiar with the words for _I love you_. He’d even heard her utter them before. Perfectly and in his native tongue just for him. And the statement was true enough on its own, but even more true—that love grew every day. Unending. A stream fed endlessly by an eternal river. Just as true in English but nowhere near as visceral or all-consuming as it was in French.

The slightest exhale—sigh—puffed against his face. He felt her barely nod. Her lips, skimming over his with each motion. A tide, shallow but mighty, pulling him out to sea until he could resist no longer. Hand braced against the back of her head, he urged her closer and claimed her mouth. Kissing her long and deep. Slow. Her entire form seemed to melt against him, into him. Capturing his face between her hands, fingertips breezing against his skin. The loose chestnut hairs framing her face tickled his. Lips barely even parting. Never for long—just the occasional pause in a war for oxygen. Their ferocious breaths filled the silence. That, and the faintest of whimpers. His right hand anchored to her curvy hip. The other to her back, pinning her to him. His fingers flexed, sinking into her, when she brushed her tongue against his. 

_Bang!_

The door to med bay shot open and slammed against the interior wall. 

Gustave and Taina ripped away from each other at the shuddering ruckus.

“ _Righto!_ ” Mozzie shouted as he hopped through the threshold of medical bay, every part of his tan and camouflage uniform and armour rattling.

And then he froze, paralyzed. Gaping at them.

And Gustave gaped right back.

Back straightening into the most domineering posture one could in her position, Taina flinched. Like a panther or jaguar ready to strike, to pounce for a certain kill.

“Mozzie…” she hissed between clenched teeth.

In spite of the dark tinted sunglasses blocking out his eyes, Gustave was sure they were on the verge of popping out of their sockets. Wide and likelyvery, very petrified.

“Uh—”

Max whirled around and bolted out of med bay. 

“ _Mozzie!_ You fucker, get back here!” Taina screeched.

Scrambling, she lunged off Gustave and sprinted after the Australian—a violent movement that almost sent him careening towards the floor. He managed to clutch the edge of his desk and slam a foot against the floor to regain balance just in time. When he glanced up, Taina was gripping the doorframe to curve around the corner. One blink, and she had already disappeared.

Then her savage footsteps ceased and only her rocky voice loaded with venom remained. “Are you _cowering_?”

“Yes!” Mozzie squeaked out. 

“ _Good!_ ”

Gustave eased into a stand. His joints popped and cracked at the first stand or stretch he had taken in too long.

His eyes narrowed in on the open door.

Expectant.

Waiting. 

Taina stomped back into medical bay with fire in her eyes as well as in her face. A frightening mix of terror and rage. He expected nothing less at the manifestation of one of her greatest fears. One not fully comprehensible to him, but still he sympathized. He understood the desire for privacy—it was still early, and they were still new. New in their relationship. New to each other. But he in no way possessed the same need for secrecy she did. 

Which was why, as he loitered there with his arms crossed in relative indifference, Taina snapped into full damage control mode. 

She dragged Max back into the room behind her. His feet fumbled, unable to keep up with her; his hands, warring with her iron-tight grip on his uniform collar. Taina hauled him off to the side, flung the door shut, and then slammed his entire body against that shut door. It groaned on impact. _Thump._

Mozzie’s unprotected head hit the door next. So rough the sunglasses jostled off his face and hit the floor. 

“You saw nothing, you little shit. You hear me?” Taina snapped. “Or consider yourself gutted.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Gustave cut in. “Time out, Taina.”

He took only a few steps forward, the few it took to reach out and steal her arm. The slightest tug urged her backed from the mortified Australian. But just to be safe, he moved her aside until he was able to stand between the two of them before blood spilled.

Max kept his back flattened to the door. As physically far away as one could be without fleeing. His hands brandishing thick brown motorcycle gloves slapped over his eyes. Like choking out his sight could somehow undo the past. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone! I saw nothing,” he insisted. His fingers then splayed, providing a parting for him to peep through. Gustave caught the man’s eyes shift: him, over to Taina, back to him. Mozzie’s copper moustache twitched with his grin. “Although, it’s kind of cute.”

A lethal growl punctured the room’s atmosphere. 

Taina charged at Mozzie. Arms out and fingers flexed. Ready to strangle him if she had her way, but Gustave shot out an arm to block her path. She ground to a halt, combat boots grinding against the grimy linoleum in need of a mopping—an opportunity quickly seized. His hand circled around her bice, right under the black and red cuff of her uniform.

“ _Mon cœur_ , please,” he uttered as he walked her deeper into the room’s center. Closer to his desk and further away from Mozzie for when calming words inevitably failed him. 

She jerked her arm out of his hold. Brash and incensed. But then, like nothing, Taina wandered over to his desk, nudged aside the rack filled with vials of blood and hopped up into the flat surface. Sitting perfectly still—arms crossed, void stare fully engaged. 

Gustave spun and shook his head at Max next. “My question is, what exactly did you think you were doing? That door was locked. Were you trying to break in?”

“A little bit.”

“Did you pick the lock?”

“Maybe...”

“ _Mon Dieu!_ Any reason why?”

Mozzie’s arms flung through the air with an abundance of excitement—like a kid at Christmas. “I had a bloody ripper of an idea, right? But I needed a stim to do it.”

“You need a stim?”

Gustave’s eyes flickered up and down Mozzie’s entire form. Limb to limb, seeking blood or bone; the automatic response of medic searching for wounds to treat, but he found nothing marring the man. 

“Or seven.”

“ _Seven?”_ Gustave blinked twice. His head then began rattling back and forth until he found his voice through the tilting shock. “Mozzie, no.”

Max threw his head back, back arching and limbs flailing. After letting out the most exaggerated sigh, he said, “Alright, just one stim.”

“No—”

“ _Yes!_ ” Taina shouted over him.

Gustave whirled around. “Taina, _no_.”

She hopped off the desk. Both feet landed against the floor with nothing but a hush, stealthy. Taina strolled back over to his side, and once there, one hand flung out in Mozzie’s direction. “Yes! It’ll bribe him into shutting his damn mouth.”

“Aw, come on Cav. I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Mozzie pleaded, hands interlocking in prayer and pleading. “We’re pals! You know you can trust me.”

“We’re fucked.” Taina pivoted in one mechanical, detached motion to face Gustave and matter of factly added, “I think we have to get rid of him.”

“No!” Gustave half-shouted. He wedged himself himself between the two of them again. An empty hand gestured in Mozzie’s direction. “No stims.”

Mozzie’s lower lip protruded out in a pout, tugging at his red moustache. 

Gustave whirled around and pointed a cautionary index finger at Taina next. “No getting rid of anyone.”

She narrowed her eyes into slits, the jet black paint stains—faded—sharpened the glare razing through him until her expression of rage crumbled under his stare back. Taina groaned, rolling her eyes before permanently gazing off to the side. “ _Fine_.”

“Mozzie,” Gustave said, turning back to him, “if you could please not tell anyone about us.”

Mozzie crouched down to retrieve his sunglasses. He raised the tinted lenses up to the light to survey any damage. Satisfied, he slipped them back into his face. “Sure, sure. Secret’s safe with me, mate.”

“If you’d like,” Gustave offered, almost gagging on the frightening statement he was about to commit to word, “we could discuss your… _idea_ to An attempt to be a diplomatic mediator. Mostly for Taina’s sake. Max Goose certainly liked to talk, but he talked about _things_. His bike. Other peoples’ bikes. Bikes he wanted. Missions and daring tales of adventure. Not gossip though, and while Gustave himself trusted the man to keep their secret concealed—even without his word—he wasn’t certain Taina ever would. But the bargain couldn’t hurt. In the given situation, any leverage was good leverage.

Max immediately shook his head. “You won’t like it.”

Gustave grimaced. Blinking, he decided that he didn’t want to know and no way in hell was he going to ask. 

Who needed leverage?

A foreboding silence wafted through the thick air of medical bay. 

Mozzie filled it by fidgeting—pattering his hands against his thighs like a percussionist on their day off. Over and over until he finished by smacking his gloved hands together. “So, can I leave without getting offed?”

Gustave nodded despite the fact Mozzie’s attention wasn’t turned to him. 

Both of them looked over at a rather unimpressed Taina. Eyebrows furrowed; jaw taut. Her hands shifted to her hips, black as night nails digging into her own skin. 

“Whatever.”

Max tilted his head at Gustave and then back to Taina. “Is that a yes or…?”

“ _Leave, Mozzie!”_ she snapped.

“Alright!” he said, thoroughly unwounded by her sharp-as-a-knife tone. “ _Sheesh_.”

Max wrenched the door open and exited, leaving it gaping wide open in his wake. ‘ _The man really has no notion of privacy, huh?’_ Gustave noted to himself. That didn’t bode well… He bit down on his tongue, releasing a vibrating numbness from the scalding coffee he had shot back earlier. Shifting ever so slightly, he watched Taina wordlessly smite the open door in Mozzie’s absence. Sights, roaming her form: her assertive stance, the thick braid knotted down between her shoulder blade, the bright streaks weaving in and out of view, the grey-upon-grey uniform conforming to every defined muscle of her body which he longed to claim.

Interruptions, he realized, did little to temper his lust.

Glancing at his desk though, responsibility wedged itself between him and that desire. Half-completed paperwork and blood samples waiting to be sent off and analyzed. 

“I should get back to work.”

“And I need a drink,” Taina declared. Heading craning to the side, she looked over at him and attempted to smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She advanced two paces, braid lashing as she moved, boots silent as ever. Even in those motions her discontentment—fully tangible. Screaming at him, like the thick block letters screaming BOPE across her back. 

“Taina.”

Gustave reached out and snatched her gloved wrist to stop her. Taina whirled around to meet him face to face. A slight tug on her wrist urged her closer. Just a step—but enough to hear every hushed exhale, to peer deep into her eyes flaunting subtle shades of green and flecks of gold like sparks. 

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he whispered in assurance. 

Lips squished into a tight line, she nodded back. 

One quick glance at the door showed no one—not even Mozzie—so Gustave took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. The hard rubber of her tactical gloves concealed her knuckles. He dusted a kiss along the backs of her exposed fingertips instead, near her nails coated in ink black polish beginning to chip along the edges.

A faint blush painted her cheeks; the outer corners of her lips twitched up in a tiny if not sheepish smile. Only then did he let her go. 

Taina took her hand back and scurried out of medical bay’s open door. 

He followed shortly behind her. As he trudged over, a yawn ripped free. Awake but exhausted. Already having to play catch-up, keeping the door shut would hopefully block out any distractions. At the threshold of the room, his hand settled on the chilly metal doorknob. He could hear Taina’s quiet footsteps grow even quieter, fading.

Silence restored, Gustave sighed. _I’m sure it’ll be fine..._

“ _What?_ ” Taina snapped from down the hallway. 

Wincing, he dared to slant forward and peer out the room. 

Mozzie stood in the middle of the hallway. Balled hands on his hips. Facing Taina as she marched at a consistent pace, about to pass him by. It was too far away for his tired eyes, but Gustave was certain the man was grinning under his moustache. 

“Man,” Mozzie said. “The doc and the gremlin—”

Walking by, Taina lashed out her right arm and shoved Mozzie aside. His entire tiny body crashed into the wall with a _thump._ He rebounded just as fast. Like a rubber ball—bouncing back, stumbling into a steady walk, his clunky boots thudding against the ground. He caught up with Taina, keeping stride with her, and then pointedly and very much after the fact, exclaimed, “Ow!”

“Shithead,” Taina volleyed back. 

Gustave hung his head and scrubbed a hand over his wearied face.

_I’m sure it’ll be fine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Watching the SI 2020 cinematic with this one-shot in mind makes everything 100x more hilarious.


End file.
